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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

Professor 
Richard  K.  Murdoch 


DOUGLAS    JERROLD'S    WIT. 


/ 


*  <&, 


4        ' 


l//^ 


In  Press. 

THE   LIFE    OF   DOUGLAS   JERROLD. 

By  his  Son. 


SPECIMENS 


OF 


DOUGLAS  JERROLD'S  WIT 


TOGETHER   WITH 


SELECTIONS,   CHIEFLY  FROM  HIS   CONTRIBUTIONS 


TO  JOURNALS, 


INTENDED  TO   ILLUSTRATE   HIS   OPINIONS. 


ARRANGED   BY  HIS    SON, 

BLANCHARD  JERROLD. 


BOSTON: 
TICK  NOR    AND    FIELDS 

M  DCCC  LVIII. 


author's  edition. 


riverside,  Cambridge: 

stereotyped    and    printed    bt 

h.  0.  houghton  and  company. 


A 


PREFACE. 


I  have  endeavoured  to  collect  the  scattered  wit- 
ticisms which,  during  the  last  twenty  years,  have 
been  coupled  with  the  name  of  Douglas  Jerrold. 
The  collection  is  very  incomplete.  It  cannot  in- 
clude one  twentieth  part  of  the  brilliant  repartees, 
the  sparks  of  wisdom,  the  flashes  of  burning  fire, 
which  fell  from  the  eloquent  tongue  that  is  now 
mute  forever.  Charles  Kemble  said  that  in  one 
of  Douglas  Jerrold's  plays  there  was  wit  sufficient 
for  three  comedies  by  any  other  writer  ;  but  if  it 
were  possible  to  collect  completely  the  thousands 
of  "  good  things  "  that,  in  the  daily  intercourse  of 
life — over  the  study-fire  at  Putney,  at  picnics  in 
the  Pas  de  Calais,  at  the  table  of  "  Our  Club,"  in 
the  genial  circle  of  the  Old  Mulberries,  and  at  the 
family  dinner-table — fell  from  the  lips  of  one  of 
the  kindest  among  men,  the  present  spare  volume 
would  swell  to  the  proportions  of  an  encyclopae- 
dia, and  the  reputation  of  the  author  of  "  Bubbles 
of  the  Day  "  would  increase  tenfold.     "  Disjecta 


812539 


viii  PREFACE. 

membra  are  all  we  find  of  any  poet  or  of  any 
man."  *  A  complete  collection  of  Douglas  Jer- 
rold's  wit  is  now  impossible.  From  far  and  near, 
however — from  old  friends  long  separated,  from 
club  associates,  and  fireside  companions,  I  have 
gleaned  the  few  ears  of  golden  grain  which  time 
had  left  within  the  reach  of  their  memory.  Not 
one  friend  who  has  afforded  me  a  single  grain  has 
failed  to  assure  me  of  his  sorrow  over  the  treach- 
ery of  his  memoiy.  The  ghosts  of  a  hundred  good 
things  appeared  to  him,  but  he  could  not  reach 
them.  Only  the  recollection  of  the  time  and  cir- 
cumstance, which  had  given  birth  to  each,  could 
bring  them  back  to  definite  shape.  The  humble 
editor  of  the  present  volume  can,  for  his  own  part, 
call  to  mind  many  evenings  when  his  father  kept 
the  company  about  his  table  till  a  late  hour,  flash- 
ing upon  them  quaint  turns  of  thought  and  bright 
shafts  of  wit ;  each  of  which  was  worth  the  trou- 
ble of  a  note-book.  And  the  son  has  left,  deter- 
mined, henceforth,  to  bear  in  mind  all  his  father's 
sayings,  and  to  commit  them,  from  the  dangerous 
keeping  of  the  memory,  to  these  safer  media,  ink 
and  paper.  But  this  determination  was  never 
acted  upon;  and  the  culprit  who  fell  from  it,  and 
now  presents  this  poor  skeleton  of  a  splendid  pres- 
ence, regrets  his  sin  of  omission  keenly,  and  will 
regret  it  always.  Still  the  present  volume  makes, 
in  the  humble  opinion  of  its  compiler,  no  ordinary 

*  Carlyle. 


PREFACE.  IX 

list  of  wise  things  said  by  one  man.  Let  the 
reader  be  pleased  to  note  also,  that  if,  here  and 
there,  the  arrow  stings  with  a  malignant  poison 
upon  its  barb,  the  wound  is  for  the  strong  that 
have  oppressed  the  weak — the  ignoble  who  have 
warred  against  the  noble.  There  is  consuming  fire 
in  many  of  the  sayings ;  but  the  victim,  in  every 
case,  deserves  to  die.  On  the  other  hand,  there 
are  touches  of  infinite  tenderness  in  every  page. 
The  eye  that  flashed  fire  over  a  wrong  done  by  the 
strong  to  the  weak  ;  the  lip  that  curled  with  scorn 
at  the  meannesses  of  life,  softened  to  sweet  pity 
over  a  story  of  sorrow.  It  has  been  the  persever- 
ing endeavour  of  many  men  who  have  smarted 
under  the  keen  lash  of  Douglas  Jerrold's  wit,  to 
prove  to  the  world  that  the  man  who  wrote  "  Clo- 
vernook"  and  the  "  Story  of  a  Feather"  was  a 
savage  misanthrope,  who  had  small  belief  in  the 
goodness,  but  infinite  faith  in  the  rottenness,  of 
human  nature.  The  present  volume  will,  it  is  be- 
lieved, go  far  to  dispel  this  error,  and  to  confound 
its  authors. 

The  editor  of  "Douglas  Jerrold's  "Wit"  has 
sought  for  material,  not  only  in  his  father's  known 
and  acknowledged  works,  but  also  among  his 
early  pages — now  forgotten.  Even  "  More  Fright- 
ened than  Hurt,"  written  in  the  author's  fourteenth 
year,  has  furnished  matter  to  the  present  volume. 
Nor  have  dramas,  as  completely  forgotten  as  "Fif- 
teen Years  in  a  Drunkard's  Life,"  been  neglected. 
Papers  contributed  by  Douglas  Jerrold  to  the  New 


x  PREFACE. 

Monthly  Magazine,  more  than  twenty  years  ago, 
under  the  nom-de-plume  of  Henry  Brownrigg,  in- 
cluding "  Papers  of  a  Gen tleman-at- Arms,"  have 
been  carefully  examined,  that  the  present  volume 
might  be  made  worthier  of  the  author's  reputa- 
tion. But  the  book  includes,  after  all,  only  a 
scanty  proportion  of  the  witticisms  which  belong 
to  Douglas  Jerrold,  and  which  find  their  way  to 
every  place  "where  the  English  language  is  spoken. 
This  is  the  more  to  be  regretted  since  it  is  indis- 
putable that  Douglas  Jerrold  did  not  write  his  best 
jokes.  He  cast  them  forth,  in  the  course  of  con- 
versation, and  forgot  them  as  soon  as  they  were 
launched.  Often  when  reminded,  on  the  morrow 
of  a  party,  of  some  good  thing  he  had  said,  he 
would  turn,  in  surprise,  upon  his  informant,  and 
ask,  "Did  I  really  say  that?" 

With  these  few  and  feeble  words  of  introduc- 
tion, the  son  concludes  his  humble  part  of  the  pres- 
ent work.  It  has  afforded  him  some  weeks  of 
consoling  labour;  and  it  will,  he  trusts,  be  ac- 
cepted as  a  tribute  dutifully  offered  to  his  father's 
memory. 

There  are  many  sharp  sayings  in  the  present 
volume  which  were  pointed  at  dear  and  old 
friends ;  but  they  were  pointed  in  purest  frolic. 
The  best  evidence  of  this  is,  that  although  Jerrold 
often  said  bitter  things,  even  of  his  friends,  this 
bitterness  never  lost  him  a  friend  ;  for  to  all  men 
who  knew  him  personally,  he  was  valued  as  a 
kind  and  hearty  man.     He  sprang  ever  eagerly  to 


PREFACE.  Xi 

the  side,  even  of  a  passing  acquaintance,  who 
needed  a  kindness.  He  might  possibly  speak 
something  keenly  barbed  on  a  grave  occasion; 
but  his  help  would  be  substantial,  and  his  sympa- 
thy not  the  less  hearty  :  for  with  him,  a  witty 
view  of  men  and  things  forced  itself  upon  his 
mind  so  continually  and  irresistibly,  and  with  a 
vividness  and  power  so  intense,  that  sarcasm 
flashed  from  his  lips,  even  when  he  was  deeply 
moved.  He  knew  that  this  subjection  to  the  dom- 
inant faculty  of  his  mind  had  given  him  a  reputa- 
tion in  the  world  for  ill-nature.  And  he  writhed 
under  this  imputation  ;  for  he  felt  how  little  he 
deserved  it — he,  who  could  never  resist  a  kind 
word,  even  when  spoken  by  a  man  who  had 
deeply  injured  him!  There  are  many  still  living 
who  have  stung  him  with  unfair  shafts  of  satirical 
criticism  and  who  might  bear  witness  to  the  hearti- 
ness of  his  grasp,  when  he  met  them  afterwards 
in  friendship.  A  keen  and  even  fierce  antagonist 
while  at  open  war  with  a  foe,  he  set  his  lance  to 
rest  with  the  perfect  courtesy  of  a  true  knight,  the 
war  at  an  end. 

If  in  these  pages,  then,  there  be  words  to 
wound,  let  those  to  whom  they  apply  remember 
the  gentle  heart  that  beat  behind  them ;  be  cer- 
tain that  they  were  intended  in  merest  playful- 
ness, or  were  uttered  in  obedience  to  an  irresistible 
force,  that  put  fire  upon  the  tongue,  but  left  the 
soul  human  and  tender. 


JERROLD'S   WIT. 


A   HANDSOME    CONTRIBUTION. 

A  gentleman  waited  upon  Jerrold  one  morning  to 
enlist  his  sympathies  in  behalf  of  a  mutual  friend  who 
was  hi  want  of  a  round  sum  of  money.  But  this  mutual 
friend  had  already  sent  his  hat  about  among  his  literary 

brethren  on  more  than  one  occasion.     Mr. 's  hat  was 

becoming  an  institution  ;  and  the  friends  were  grieved  at 
the  indelicacy  of  the  proceeding.  On  the  occasion  to 
which  we  now  refer,  the  bearer  of  the  hat  was  received 
by  Jerrold  with  evident  dissatisfaction. 

"  Well,"  said  Jerrold,  "  how  much  does want  this 

time  ?  " 

"  Why  just  a  four  and  two  noughts  will,  I  think,  put 
him  straight,"  the  bearer  of  the  hat  replied. 

Jerrold. — "  Well,  put  me  down  for  one  of  the  noughts." 

A    RULE    OF   LIFE. 

"  My  dear  father  on  his  death-bed,"  said  Lord  Skin- 
deep, — "  ha !  what  a  father  he  was  ! — my  dear  father 
said, '  Barnaby,  my  dear  Barnaby,  never  while  you  live 


14  JERROLD'S    WIT. 

refuse  an  honest  man  your  band ;  but,  my  beloved  boy, 
be  sure  of  one  thing :  when  you  give  your  hand,  oh ! 
never,  never  have  a  pen  in  it.'  " 

STATESMANSHIP. 

"  Sir,  there  is  but  one  path  to  substantial  greatness — 
the  path  of  statesmanship.  For,  though  you  set  out  in  a 
threadbare  coat  and  a  hole  in  either  shoe,  if  you  walk 
with  a  cautious  eye  to  the  sides,  you'll  one  day  find  your- 
self in  velvet  and  gold,  with  music  in  your  name  and 
money  in  your  pocket." 

A    PHILANTHROPIST. 

As  for  the  member  for  Muff  borough,  he  is  one  of  those 
wise  philanthropists  who,  in  a  time  of  famine,  would  vote 
for  nothing  but  a  supply  of  toothpicks. 

A    BLUE. 

She's  a  travelling  college,  and  civilizes  wherever  she 
goes.  Send  her  among  the  Hottentots,  and  in  a  week 
she'd  write  'em  into  top-boots.  She  spent  only  three 
days  with  the  Esquimaux  Indians,  wrote  a  book  upon 
their  manners,  and,  by  the  very  force  of  her  satire, 
shamed  'em  out  of  whale-oil  into  soda-water. 

THE    LAW". 

Study — study  the  law  !  How  invitingly  yon  row  of 
sages  smile  upon  you  !  "With  what  a  dulcet  note  doth 
Wisdom,  clad  in  sober  calf,  invoke  me  to  her  banquet 
and  her  shows  !  There  may  he  who  feeds,  grow  great 
on  dead  men's  brains;  there  may  he  trace  a  web  of 
hubbub  words  which  craft  may  turn  into  a  net  of  steel ; 
there  learn,  when  Justice  weighs  poor  bleeding  Truth,  to 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  15 

make  her  mount  by  flaw  and  doubt ;  and  see  recorded, 
ay,  ten  thousand  times,  how  Quibble,  with  his  varnished 
cheek,  hath  laughed  defrauded  Justice  out  of  court ! 

A    MONEY-LENDER. 

The  best  fellow  in  the  world,  sir,  to  get  money  of;  for 
as  he  sends  you  half  cash,  half  wine,  why,  if  you  can't 
take  up  his  bill,  you've  always  poison  at  hand  for  a 
remedy. 

A    GOLDEN    RULE. 

Fix  yourself  upon  the  wealthy.  In  a  word,  take  this 
for  a  golden  rule  through  life — never,  never  have  a  friend 
that's  poorer  than  yourself. 

men's  hearts. 
Men's  hearts!     Do   what  you   will,  the  things   won't 
break.     I  doubt  if  even  they'll  chip. 

DESCRIPTION    OF    A    SCOUNDREL. 

Jerrold. — "  That  scoundrel,  sir !  Why,  he'd  sharpen 
a  knife  upon  his  father's  tombstone  to  kill  his  mother ! " 

TRANSLATION    AND    ORIGINAL    WRITING. 

Jerrold  was  walking  along  the  Strand  one  day,  when 

he  met  C S ,  exquisitely  gloved.     Jerrold  had  a 

pair  of  modest  Berlin  gloves  on.  He  glanced  first  at 
his  own    unassuming    hands,  and   said,  "  Tut ! — original 

writing !  "     Then,  pointing  to  S 's    faultless    yellow 

kid,  added,  "Translation  !  " 

MORAL    PRINCIPLE. 

This  is  what  the  world  calls  principle:  he  has  owed  me 
half  a  crown  for  seven  years,  and  wears  lavender-water ! 


16  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

MAIDS    AND    WIVES. 

Women  are  all  alike.  When  they're  maids  they're 
mild  as  milk :  once  make  'em  wives,  and  they  lean  their 
backs  against  their  marriage  certificates,  and  defy  you. 

TRUTH. 

I've  heard  people  say,  truth  lives  in  a  well ;  if  so,  I'd 
advise  you  to  take  an  early  dip  in  the  bucket. 

MONET. 

Certainly  man's  wicked  angel  is  in  money.  I  often 
catch  myself  with  something  bold  as  a  lion  bouncing  from 
my  heart,  when  the  shilling  rattles,  and  the  lion  as  small 
as  any  weasel  slinks  back  again. 

THE    WAY   TO    A    WOMAN'S    HEART. 

The  surest  way  to  hit  a  woman's  heart  is  to  take  aim 
kneeling. 

BRED    ON    THE    BOARDS. 

When  Morris  had  the  Haymarket  Theatre,  Jerrold,  on 
a  certain  occasion,  had  reason  to  find  fault  with  the 
strength,  or,  rather,  the  want  of  strength,  of  the  com- 
pany. Morris  expostulated,  and  said,  "  Why,  there's 
V ,  he  was  bred  on  these  boards  ! " 

Jerrold. — "  He  looks  as  though  he'd  been  cut  out  of 
them." 

THE    PHILANTHROPIST. 

Jerrold  hated  the  cant  of  philanthropy,  and  writhed 
whenever  he  was  called  a  philanthropist  in  print.  On 
one  occasion,  when  he  found  himself  so  described,  he  ex- 
claimed, "  Zounds,  it  tempts  a  man  to  kill  a  child  to  get 
rid  of  the  reputation." 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  17 

CHARACTER. 

Character  's  like  money :  when  you've  a  great  deal, 
you  may  risk  some  ;  for,  if  you  lose  it,  folks  still  believe 
you've  plenty  to  spare. 

ANCESTRY. 

"  As  for  ancestry,"  says  Smoke,  "  truth  to  speak,  I  am 
one  of  those  who  may  take  the  cuckoo  for  their  crest,  and 
for  their  motto — '  Nothing.' " 

GRAPES    V.    RAISINS. 

Poor  Mrs.  Quarto  !  Even  if  there  had  been  a  boyish 
passion,  now  'twould  be  absurd.  A  man  may  be  very 
fond  of  grapes  who  sha'n't  abide  the  fruit  when  dried  into 
raisins. 

WOMEN    AND    WARRIORS. 

With  women  as  with  warriors,  there's  no  robbery — all's 
conquest. 

A    DIFFERENCE. 

Jerrold  one  day  met  a  Scotch  gentleman,  whose  name 
was  Leitch,  and  who  explained  that  he  was  not  the  pop- 
ular caricaturist,  John  Leech. 

Jerrold. — "  I'm  aware  of  that — you're  the  Scotchman 
with  the  i-t-c-h  in  your  name." 

PHYSIC    TO    THE    DOGS. 

One  day  Mr.  Tilbury  entered  a  room  where  Jerrold 
was  talking  with  some  friends.  Macready  was  about  to 
produce  "  Macbeth "  at  Covent  Garden  ;  Tilbury  com- 
plained that  he  had  been  cast  for  the  Physician,  having 
previously  been  entrusted  with  the  more  genial  part  of 
Witch. 

2 


18  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

Jerrold. — "  Made  you  the  Physician  !  Humph — that 
is  throwing  physic  to  the  dogs  with  a  vengeance  !  " 

A    CAUTIOUS    LOVER. 

"  When  I  courted  her,"  said  Spread  weasel,  "  I  took 
lawyer's  advice,  and  signed  every  letter  to  my  love, — 
'  Yours,  without  prejudice  ! '  " 

THE    TEMPLE    OF    FAME. 

Some  people  were  praising  the  writings  of  a  certain 
Scot.  Jerrold. — "  I  quite  agree  with  you  that  he  should 
have  an  itch  in  the  Temple  of  Fame." 

DAMPED    ARDOUR. 

Jerrold  and  Laman  Blanchard  were  strolling  together 
about  London,  discussing  passionately  a  plan  for  joining 
Byron  in  Greece.  Jerrold,  telling  the  story  many  years 
after,  said,  "  But  a  shower  of  rain  came  on  and  washed 
all  the  Greece  out  of  us." 

a  lover's  aspiration. 
The  sky  's  blue   again, — blue  as  your  precious  eyes, 
and    the   rain-drops    hang    upon    the    leaves    as    bright 
as    the    diamonds    I    wish    I    was    rich    enough  to   give 
you. 

AN    ACTOR'S    WINE. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  a  friend  to  Jerrold,  "  that  Jones 
has  left  the  stage  and  turned  wine-merchant?" — "Oh, 
yes,"  Jerrold  replied  ;  "  and  I'm  told  that  his  wine  off  the 
stage  is  better  than  his  whine  on  it." 

LOVE. 

They  say  love 's  like  the  measles — all  the  worse  when 
it  comes  late  in  life. 


JERROLD'S    WIT.  19 

A    KNOWLEDGE    OF    GUANO. 

A  literary  gentleman  once  said  pretentiously  to  Jerrold, 
"  My  dear  Jerrold,  you  know,  of  course,  what  guano  is  ?  " 
— "  No,"  Jerrold  replied ;  "  but  I  can  understand  your 
knowledge,  you've  had  so  much  thrown  at  you  in  your 
time." 

THE  CHANGES  OF  THE  HEART. 

"  When  we  last  met,  ma'am,  my  heart  was  like  a  sum- 
mer walnut, — green  and  tender  ;  now,  I  can  tell  you,  it's 
plaguy  hard  in  the  shell." 

jerrold's  luggage. 
When  Jerrold  was  once  returning  from  the  continent, 
a  Folkstone  custom-house  officer  seized  his  carpet-bag — 
a  very  small  one — and  said,  "  I  cannot  let  that  pass — you 
must  tell  me  what's  in  it." — "  In  this  reticule  !  "  Jerrold 
replied — "  well,  you  shall  see  it ;  but  I  can  assure  you  that 
it's  only  a  very  small  hippopotamus." 

woman's  love. 
Strange  is  the  love  of  woman  :  it's  like  one's  beard — 
the  closer  one  cuts  it  the  stronger  it  grows — and  both  a 
plague. 

AN   UGLY   DOG. 

Jerrold  had  a  favourite  dog,  that  followed  him  every- 
where. One  day,  in  the  country,  a  lady  who  was  passing, 
turned  round  and  said,  audibly,  "What  an  ugly  little 
brute  !  "  whereupon,  Jerrold,  addressing  the  lady,  replied, 
"  Oh,  madam  !  I  wonder  what  he  thinks  about  us  at  this 
moment ! " 


20  JEEEOLD'S   WIT. 

A  PROFESSOR. 

Indeed,  there  are  few  things,  from  Chinese  to  back- 
gammon, of  which  I  am  not  professor.  I  dabble,  too,  a 
good  deal  in  bar  and  pulpit  eloquence.  Ha,  sir  !  the 
barristers  I've  fitted  for  the  woolsack — the  heads  I've 
patted  into  shape  for  mitres !  Even  the  stuttering  parish 
clerk  of  Tithepig-cum-Tottlepot,  he  took  only  three  les- 
sons, and  nobody  knew  his  "  Amen  "  for  the  same  thing. 
And  then  I've  a  great  name  for  knife-and-fork  eloquence. 
Yes — I  teach  people  after-dinner  thanks.  I  don't  brag  ; 
but,  show  me  the  man  who,  like  me,  can  bring  in  the 
happiest  moment  of  a  gentleman's  life  at  only  a  crown  a 
lesson. 

THE    EFFECTS    OF    TRUNK-MAKING. 

Some  years  ago  he  lined  his  trunks  with  Roman  His- 
tory, and  he's  believed  himself  Cato  ever  since. 

MR.    PEPPER'S    PARTY. 

Jerrold  went  to  a  party  at  which  a  Mr.  Pepper  had 
assembled  all  his  friends.  Jerrold  said  to  his  host,  on 
entering  the  room,  "  My  dear  Mr.  Pepper,  how  glad  you 
must  be  to  see  all  your  friends  mustered ! " 

TREASON. 

Treason  is  like  diamonds ;  there's  nothing  to  be  made 
of  it  by  the  small  trader. 

THE    TIME    FOR    PATRIOTISM. 

When  a  man  has  nothing  in  the  world  to  lose,  he  is 
then  in  the  best  condition  to  sacrifice  for  the  public  good 
every  thing  that  is  his. 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  21 

Contentment  is  the  poor  man's  bank. 

A    CONFESSION. 

In  Verona,  I  ruined  a  lawyer — no,  that  comes  by-and- 
by  among  my  good  acts. 

A    COVERING    FOR    KNAVERY. 

I  always  thought  his  knavery  so  great,  nothing,  save  a 
cowl,  could  cover  it. 

THE    TIME    FOR    MOURNING. 

When  rich  rogues  are  merry,  honest  folks  may  go  into 
mourning. 

A    VERY   ROGUE. 

Had  he  to  cut  his  neighbour's  throat,  he'd  first  sharpen 
his  knife  on  the  church  marble. 

THE    SWEETEST    PLUM. 

In  all  the  wedding-cake,  hope  is  the  sweetest  of  the 
plums. 

LOVE. 

Love's  like  the  flies,  and,  drawing-room  or  garrets, 
goes  all  over  the  house. 

THE    CLEAREST    OF    ALL    LAWS. 

Self-defence  is  the  clearest  of  all  laws  ;  and  for  this 
reason — the  lawyers  didn't  make  it. 

EXTINCT    OLD    VIRTUES 

are,  like  extinct  volcanoes,  with  a  strong  memory  of 
brimstone  and  fire.  The  sun  itself  isn't  the  same  sun  that 
illuminated  the  darling  middle  ages  ;  but  a  twinkling  end 
of  sun — the  sun  upon  a  save-all.     And  the  moon — the 


22  JERROLD'S    WIT. 

moon  that  shone  on  Coeur-de- Lion's  battleaxe — ha !  that 
was  a  moon.  Now  our  moon  at  the  brightest,  what  is  it? 
A  dim,  dull,  counterfeit  moon — a  pewter  shilling. 

SECOND    MARRIAGES. 

I've  heard  say  wedlock  's  like  wine — not  to  be  properly- 
judged  of  till  the  second  glass. 

BODY    AND    MIND. 

His  body  is  weak,  but  his  mind  tremendous.  Yes, 
a  sword  —  a  Damascus  blade  in  a  brown  paper  scab- 
bard. 

DAMP    SHEETS. 

To  think  that  two  or  three  yards  of  damp  flax  should 
so  knock  down  the  majesty  of  man  ! 

PERMANENTLY    ENLARGED. 

Some  years  ago  London  was  covered  with  announce- 
ments of  the  permanent  enlargement  of  the  Morning 
Herald.  One  day  Jerrold  called  at  the  office,  and  on  see- 
ing the  portly  figure  of  Mr.  Rodin,  the  publisher,  said, 
"  What !  Rodin,  you  too  seem  to  be  permanently  en- 
larged ! " 

THE    DAISY. 

The  daisy  is  Death's  forget-me-not. 

AN  ATTEMPT  TO  RETURN  TO  THE  MIDDLE  AGES 

is  trying  to  make  John  Bull  grow  little  again  into  John 
Calf. 

THE    DINER-OUT    AT   HOME. 

A  gentleman  who  enjoyed  the  reputation  of  dining  out 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  23 

continually,  and  of  breaking  bread  with  the  refinement 
of  a  gourmet,  once  joined  a  party,  which  included  Jerrold, 
late  in  the  evening.  The  diner-out  threw  himself  into  a 
chair,  and  exclaimed  with  disgust,  "  Tut !  I  had  nothing 
but  a  d — d  mutton-chop  for  dinner  ! "  Jerrold. — "  Ah  !  I 
see,  you  dined  at  home." 

TWOPENNY    TIJIES. 

We  live  in  twopenny  times,  when  chivalry  goes  to 
church  in  the  family  coach,  and  the  god  of  marriage  bar- 
gains for  his  wedding-breakfast. 

AN    ATTORNEY'S    LAST    HOPE. 

A  certain  sharp  attorney  was  said  to  be  in  bad  circum- 
stances.    A  friend  of  the  unfortunate  lawyer  met  Jerrold, 

and  said,  "  Have  you  heard  about  poor  R ?     His 

business  is  going  to  the  devil."      Jerrold. — "That's  all 
right — then  he  is  sure  to  get  it  back  again." 

A    TAX    UPON    TOADIES. 

Brown  was  said  by  all  his  friends  to  be  the  toady  of 
Jones.  The  appearance  of  Jones  in  a  room  was  the  proof 
that  Brown  was  in  the  passage.  When  Jones  had  the 
influenza,  Brown  dutifully  caught  a  cold  in  the  head. 
Jerrold  met  Brown  one  day,  and  holding  him  by  the 
buttonhole  said,  "  Have  you  heard  the  rumour  that's  fly- 
ing about  town  ?  "— "  No."  "  Well,  they  say  Jones  pays 
the  dog-tax  for  you." 

A    MODEL    BEGGAR. 

Jerrold  was  showing  off  the  accomplishments  of  a  fa- 
vourite terrier.  "  Does  he  beg  ?  "  asked  a  visitor.  "  Beg ! " 
replied  Jerrold,  "  ay,  like  a  prince  of  the  blood  ! " 


24  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

TOWN    AND    COUNTRY. 

Compared  to  London,  the  country  seems  to  me  the 
world  without  its  clothes  on. 

A    MOTTO. 

Conscious  virtue  and  cold  mutton. 

EXTREMES    MEET. 

A  gourmet  joined  a  social  club  to  which  Jerrold  be- 
longed, and  opened  a  conversation  on  dining.  "  Now 
nobody,"  said  the  London  Savarin,  "  can  guess  what  I 
had  for  dinner  to-day  !  "  The  company  declined  to  spec- 
ulate, whereupon  the  gourmet  said,  with  an  air,  "  Why, 
calf 's-tail  soup  !  "     Jerrold. — "  Extremes  meet !  " 

WISHES. 

Wishes  at  least  are  the  easy  pleasures  of  the  poor. 

GOLD. 

He  who  has  guineas  for  his  subjects,  is  the  king  of 

men  ! 

SOCIETY. 

Like  a  tailor's  pattern-book,  society  is  of  all  colours ; 
and  yet,  make  up  the  colours  as  you  will,  they  all  cover 
the  same  kind  of  Adam. 

JEWELS. 

Jewels !  It's  my  belief  that,  when  woman  was  made, 
jewels  were  invented  only  to  make  her  the  more  mis- 
chievous. 

A    SAFE    GOVERNMENT. 

That  government  is  still  the  safest  that  makes  treason 
laughable. 


JEEEOLD'S    WIT.  25 

ADDRESSED    TO    A    DIPLOMATIST. 

Daylight's  wasted  upon  a  man  who  can  see  so  much 
better  in  the  dark. 

WIT    AND    WAGGERY. 

Wit,  I  have  heard  called  a  merchant  prince,  trading 
with  the  whole  world  ;  whilst  waggery  is  a  green-grocer, 
making  up  small  penn'orths  for  the  local  vulgar. 

TREASON. 

To  fan  treason  into  full  blaze,  always  fan  with  a  petti- 
coat. 

ST.    CUPID. 

Since  Cupid  has  so  many  of  his  old  friends  in  the 
calendar,  'tis  right,  at  last,  he's  canonized  himself. 

TIME. 

To  the  true  teacher,  time's  hour-glass  should  still  run 
gold  dust. 

THE    PINE-APPLE. 

The  nobleman  of  the  garden. 

THE    PRIDE    OF    SICKNESS. 

With  high  folks,  whenever  a  sickness  shows  itself  in  a 
family,  it  is  treated  with  so  much  pomp  and  ceremony,  it 
can't  make  up  its  mind  to  leave. 

A    COMIC    AUTHOR. 

Jerrold  was  talking  about  a  well-known  comic  lecturer, 
and  of  his  tendency  to  reduce  any  subject  to  the  absurd. 
He  presently  exclaimed,  "  Egad,  sir !  that  fellow  would 
vulgarize  the  day  of  judgment !  " 


26  JERROLD' S   WIT. 

CONSCIENCE. 

Conscience,  be  it  ever  so  little  a  worm  while  we  live, 
grows  suddenly  to  a  serpent  on  our  death-bed. 

a  sailor's  education. 

I  was  always  fond  of  learning,  even  when  a  child. 
Well,  Tom  Cipher,  he  was  once  what  they  call  a  usher 
at  a  school  in  Yorkshire  ;  he  was  captain  of  the  top,  and 
there  he  used  to  give  me  my  edication,  making  me  spell 
the  names  of  the  merchantmen  as  they  passed  by  us.  I 
larnt  my  letters  through  a  telescope. 

woman's  love  of  dress. 
Ask  a  woman  to  a  tea-party  in  the  Garden  of  Eden, 
and  she'd  be  sure  to  draw  up  her  eyelids  and  scream, 
"  I  can't  go  without  a  new  gown." 

THE    ANGLO-FRENCH   ALLIANCE. 

Jerrold  was  in  France,  and  with  a  Frenchman  who  was 
enthusiastic  on  the  subject  of  the  Anglo-French  alliance. 
He  said  that  he  was  proud  to  see  the  English  and  French 
such  good  friends  at  last.  Jerrold. — "  Tut '.  the  best  thing 
I  know  between  France  and  England  is — the  sea." 

THE  HUSBANDMAN'S    LIFE. 

What  a  new  life  of  happiness  and  honour — the  life  of 
the  husbandman ;  a  life  fed  by  the  bounty  of  earth,  and 
sweetened  by  the  airs  of  heaven. 

MEETING    TROUBLES    HALF-WAY. 

Some  people  are  so  fond  of  ill-luck  that  they  run  half- 
way to  meet  it. 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  27 

OTHELLO    SET    TO    MUSIC. 

Davenant  is  about  to  cut  down,  and  put  music  to 
"  Othello."  He  takes  away  the  golden  wires  of  Apollo, 
and  puts  in  their  place  his  own  cat-gut. 

A    LAND    OF   PLENTY. 

Earth  is  here  so  kind,  that,  just  tickle  her  with  a  hoe, 
and  she  laughs  with  a  harvest. 

A    BROKEN    CHARACTER. 

The  character  that  needs  law  to  mend  it  is  hardly 
worth  the  tinkering. 

A    CHARITABLE    LESSON. 

It  would  be  uncharitable  too  severely  to  condemn  for 
faults,  without  taking  some  thought  of  the  sterling  good- 
ness which  mingles  in  and  lessens  them. 

BOOKS. 

A  blessed  companion  is  a  book  !  A  book  that,  fitly 
chosen,  is  a  life-long  friend.  A  book — the  unfailing  Da- 
mon to  his  loving  Pythias.  A  book  that,  at  a  touch,  pours 
its  heart  into  our  own. 

UGLY    TRADES. 

The  ugliest  of  trades  have  their  moments  of  pleasure. 
Now,  if  I  were  a  grave-digger,  or  even  a  hangman,  there 
are  some  people  I  could  work  for  with  a  great  deal  of 
enjoyment. 

IMPLEMENTS  OF  HUSBANDRY. 

Every  tool  seemed  to  me  at  once  the  weapon  and  the 


28  JERR OLD'S  WIT. 

ornament  of  independence.  With  such  magnificent  arms 
a  true  man  may  go  forth  and  conquer  the  wilderness, 
making  the  earth  smile  with  the  noblest  of  victories. 

A    TASTE    OF    MARRIAGE. 

A  gentleman  described  to  Jerrold  the  bride  of  a  mutual 
friend.  "  Why  he  is  six  foot  high,  and  she  is  the  shortest 
woman  I  ever  saw.     What  taste,  eh?" 

"Ay,"  Jerrold  replied,  "and  oidy  a  taste  !" 

WHOLESALE    AND    RETAIL. 

Wholesales  don't  mix  with  retails.  Raw  wool  doesn't 
speak  to  halfpenny  ball  of  worsted ;  tallow  in  the  cask 
looks  down  upon  sixes  to  the  pound,  and  pig  iron  turns 
up  its  nose  at  tenpenny  nails. 

CHARITY. 

Charity  is  such  a  lonely  creature,  my  blood  comes  up 
when  I  see  a  set  of  rascals — and  there's  a  pretty  knot  in 
this  town — trying  to  impose  upon  her. 

FORCED    KNOWLEDGE. 

It's  odd  how  folks  will  force  disagreeable  knowledge 
upon  us, — crab-apples,  that  we  must  eat  and  defy  the 
stomach-ache. 

A   WEDDING-GOWN. 

After  all,  there  is  something  about  a  wedding-gown 
prettier  than  in  any  other  gown  in  the  world. 

THE    GENIUS    OF    MONEY. 

If  at  times  it  brings  trouble  upon  men,  as  men  are  too 
apt  in  their  excess  of  sincerity  to  declare,  it  must  be 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  29 

allowed  that  the  trouble  it  saves  them  is  to  the  full  as 
great  as  the  perplexity  it  inflicts. 

THE    CHOICE    OF    A   PROFESSION. 

The  bar's  too  full — the  bench  can't  be  lengthened  to 
hold  a  thousandth  part  of  us,  and  we  mus'n't  sit  in  each 
other's  laps.  So  many — nine-tenths — must  die  like  spi- 
ders with  nothing  to  spin.  And  as  to  the  army,  that's 
"  going,  going,"  soon  to  be  "  gone."  Laurels  are  fast 
sinking  from  the  camp  to  the  kitchen.  In  a  very  little 
while  the  cook  will  rob  Cresar  of  his  wreath  to  flavor  a 
custard. 

THE    INFLUENCE    OF    "WEALTH. 

Everybody  has  imagination  when  money  is  the  thought 
— the  theme.  The  common  brain  will  bubble  to  a  golden 
wand. 


Money  is  like  the  air  you  breathe ;  if  you  have  it  not, 
you  die. 

COLD    MUTTON. 

Cold  mutton's  like  a  cold  friend,  the  less  to  be  stom- 


ached for  having  once  been  hot. 


THE    CITY    GENTLEMAN. 

What  a  picture  to  the  imagination,  the  City  Gentle- 
man !  Calm,  plain,  self-assured  in  the  might  of  his 
wealth.  All  the  bullion  of  the  Bank  of  England  makes 
background  details  ;  the  India  House  dawns  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  a  hundred  pennants  from  masts  in  India  Docks 
tremble  in  the  far-off  sky. 

TWO    THIRDS    OF    THE    TRUTH. 

Albert    Smith   once    wrote  an    article   in    Blackicood, 


30  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

signed  "  A.  S."  "  Tut,"  said  Jerrold,  on  reading  the 
initials,  "  what  a  pity  Smith  will  tell  only  two  thirds  of 
the  truth." 

A    COXCOMB. 

A  poor  vain  fellow,  who  would  play  at  cup-and-ball 
with  the  hearts  of  the  whole  sex. 

FAIRY    WORTH. 

In  the  old  poetic  time  the  same  fairy  that  would  lead 
men  astray  for  the  sake  of  the  mischief,  would,  by  way 
of  recompense,  churn  the  butter  and  trim  up  the  house, 
while  the  household  snored.  Now  money  is  the  prose 
fairy  of  our  mechanical  generation. 

A    CHARITABLE    MAN. 

He  was  so  good  he  would  pour  rose-water  over  a  toad. 

GAMBLING    HOUSES. 

Many  a  house  in  this  town  is  a  swan  house,  all  white 
and  fair  outside ;  but  only  think  of  the  black  legs  that 
are  working  out  of  sight  ! 

THE    GREAT    SECRET. 

Poverty  is  the  great  secret,  kept  at  any  pains  by  one 
half  the  world  from  the  other  half ;  the  mystery  of  mys- 
teries, guarded  at  any  cost  by  neighbour  Brown  from 
next  door  neighbour  Green. 

TITLES. 

Titles  are  straws  that  tickle  women. 

TRUE    WISDOM. 

The  only  lasting  good ;  all  else  is  hollow.     Glory — 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  31 

'tis  but  a  bubble  blown  from  blood!  law — a  spider's 
wisdom ;  and  politics — the  statesman  ponders  and  plans, 
winning  nothing  certain  but  ingratitude  and  indigestion ; 
whilst  for  woman,  we  hunt  a  wild-fire,  and  vow  it  is  a 
star. 

THE    LAW". 

The  law's  a  pretty  bird,  and  has  charming  wings. 
'Twould  be  quite  a  bird  of  paradise  if  it  didn't  carry 
such  a  terrible  bill. 

TRUE    WORTH. 

Don't  think  that  money  can  do  any  thing  and  every 
thing— it  can't.  There  must  be  inward  worth.  The 
gold  candlestick — if  I  may  be  so  bold  as  to  use  a  figure 
— may  be  prized,  I  grant ;  but  its  magnificence  is  only 
subservient  to  its  use;  the  gold  is  very  well,  but  after 
all,  it's  the  light  we  look  to. 

ADVICE    TO    A   JACOBITE. 

Take  my  advice,  leave  plots,  go  into  the  country,  love 
your  queen,  and — but  if  you  still  have  a  hankering  for 
the  sweets  of  rebellion — why  take  a  wife. 

MERCY. 

There  be  few  of  us,  I  fear,  would  be  worse  for  a  little 
more  of  it. 

THE    PETTICOAT. 

Live  in  a  palace  without  a  petticoat — 'tis  but  a  place 
to  shiver  in.  Whereas,  take  off  the  house-top,  break 
every  window,  make  the  doors  creak,  the  chimneys 
smoke,  give  free  entry  to  sun,  wind,  and  rain — still  will 
a  petticoat  make  the  hovel  habitable ;  nay,  bring  the 
little  household  gods  crowding  about  the  fire-place. 


32  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

FRIENDSHIP    IN    ADVERSITY. 

Friendship  in   ill-luck    turns    to    mere   acquaintance. 

The  -wine  of  life — as   I've   heard  it  called — goes    into 

vinegar;  and  folks    that   hugged    the    Dottle,  shirk   the 
cruet. 

AN    OLD    BACHELOR. 

He  spends  all  his  life  discovering  flaws  and  blots, 
whilst  another  woos  and  weds ;  and  looking  only  with  his 
natural  eyes,  sees,  to  the  end  of  his  days,  nothing  but 
light. 

YOUNG    LADIES'    ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 

Bless  their  little  filagree  hearts  !  before  they  marry 
they  ought  to  perform  quarantine  in  cotton,  and  serve 
seven  years  to  pies  and  puddings. 

THE    TEST    OF    FRIENDSHIP. 

There's  nothing  like  a  prison  pavement  to  ring  our  old 
friends  upon. 

LOVE    IN    PRISON. 

Has  not  the  magic  of  the  passion  hung  prison  walls 
with  garlands,  and,  like  the  sun  of  old,  drawn  hidden  har- 
monies from  out  the  very  flint  ? 

DEBT. 

To  get  appearance  upon  debt  is,  no  doubt,  every  bit  a- 
comfortable  as  to  get  height  upon  the  rack.  The  figure 
may  be  expanded ;  but  how  the  muscle  of  the  heart,  how 
all  the  joints  are  made  to  crack  for  it ! 

TALL  AND  SHORT. 

At  an  evening  party,  Jerrold  was  looking  at  the  dan- 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  33 

cers.  Seeing  a  very  tall  gentleman  waltzing  with  a 
remarkably  short  lady,  he  said  to  a  friend  at  hand, 
"  Humph  !  there's  the  mile  dancing  with  the  mile-stone." 

A    SOLEMN    WARNING. 

At  a  rehearsal,  one  day,  a  lady,  whom  Jerrold  was  in 
the  habit  of  rallying,  gave  him  a  cake.  Whereupon,  he 
took  his  watch  from  his  pocket,  held  up  the  present,  and 
addressing  those  around  him,  said,  "  Ladies  and  gentle- 
men, it  is  now  half-past  twelve  o'clock,  and  I  am  about  to 
eat  this  cake.     Remember  the  hour!  " 

A    CARELESS    HOUSEMAID. 

That  girl  would  break  the  Bank  of  England  if  she  put 
her  hand  upon  it. 

HUMAN    DEVILS. 

If  men  do  seem  devils,  it  is  when,  made  drunk  and 
callous  by  the  bounty  of  heaven,  they  mock  and  mortify 
their  fellow-men. 

WISHES. 

Foolish  and  wicked  wishes  do  not  fly  upwards ;  but, 
there  is  no  doubt  of  it,  descend  below;  where,  though 
they  are  but  bodiless  syllables,  they  are  often  fashioned 
by  the  imps  into  pins  and  needles,  and  straightway  re- 
turned to  the  world  to  torment  their  begetter. 

WHAT'S    GOING    ON  ? 

A  very  prosy  gentleman  was  in  the  habit  of  waylaying 
Jerrold,  whenever  he  met  him,  to  have  a  chat  in  the 
street.  Jerrold  disliked  very  naturally  to  be  held  by  the 
button-hole  in  a  crowded  thoroughfare.     One  day  Prosy 


34  JEREOLD'S  WIT. 

met  his  victim,  and,  planting  himself  in  the  way,  said, 
"  "Well,  Jerrold,  what  is  going  on  to-day  ?  " 

Jerrold  (sharply,  darting  past  the  inquirer). — "  I  am  ! " 

A    GOOD    WORLD. 

"We  are  poor  fools,  and  make  sad  mistakes  ;  but  there 
is  goodness  hived,  like  wild  honey,  in  strange  nooks  and 
corners  of  the  world. 

THE    WORLD. 

The  world  is  as  a  cocoa-nut ;  there  is  the  vulgar  out- 
side fibre,  to  be  made  into  door-mats  and  ropes  ;  the  hard 
shell  good  for  beer-cups  ;  and  the  white  delicate  kernel, 
the  real  worth,  food  for  the  gods. 

SHAKSPERIAN    GROG. 

As  for  the  brandy,  "nothing  extenuate," — and  the 
water,  "  put  nought  in,  in  malice." 

A    VERY   THIN   MAN. 

At  a  bachelor  party  there  was  a  gentleman  remarkable 
for  his  thinness.  Shall  we  call  him  Deedes  ?  In  the 
course  of  the  evening  a  servant  opened  the  door,  and  the 
cold  air  rushed  into  the  apartment. 

Jerrold. — "  By  heavens  !  quick  !  shut  the  door.  This 
draught  will  blow  Deedes  up  the  chimney !  " 

SUDDEN    CHANGE    OF   FORTUNE. 

A  man  who  has  so  long  to  fight  against  misfortune, 
wants  strength  to  meet  a  sudden  kindness. 

A   NOBLE    LORD. 

He  was  the  lord  of  abundance — a  man  who  had  noth- 


JEBEOLD'S  WIT.  35 

ing  to  do  with  want  and  misery,  but  to  exercise  the 
noblest  prerogative  of  happy  humanity — namely,  to  de- 
stroy them  wheresoever  he  found  them  preying  upon  his 
fellows. 

FILIAL    LOVE. 

A  tree  planted  by  a  parent  gone,  doth  seem  to  have  its 
roots  within  his  grave  ;  to  strike  the  one,  doth  almost 
seem  to  violate  the  other. 

TRUE    HUMOUR. 

A  man  of  true  humour  may  put  a  capital  joke  into  an 
epitaph,  and  get  a  broad  grin  from  a  skeleton. 

AN    EXEMPLARY    SCHOOLMASTER. 

It  was  his  prejudice  to  prefer  one  slip  of  olive  to  a 
whole  grove  of  birch. 

THE    TENDENCY    OF    THE    TIME. 

The  great  tendency  of  our  time  is  to  sink  the  serious 
and  to  save  the  droll.  Folks  who  have  an  eagle  in  their 
coat-of-arms  begin  to  be  ashamed  of  it,  and  paint  it  out 
for  the  laughing  goose.  In  a  very  little  while  we  shall 
put  a  horse-collar  round  about  the  world,  expressly  for 
all  the  world  to  grin  through  it. 

A   SUSPICIOUS   MAN. 

He'd  search  a  pincushion  for  treason,  and  see  daggers 
in  a  needle-case. 

HASTY    MARRIAGES. 

"When  young  folks  are  for  going  to  church,  they  never 
heed  whether  in  a  slow  march  or  a  gallop. 


36  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

NATURE. 

Nature  is  a  pattern  maid-of-all-work,  and  does  best 
•when  least  meddled  with. 

A    BAD    PEN. 

"  God  has  written  '  honest  man '  in  the  face,"  said  a 
friend  to  Jerrold,  speaking  of  a  person  in  whom  Jerrold's 
faith  was  not  altogether  blind. — "  Humph  !  "  Jerrold  re- 
plied, "  then  the  pen  must  have  been  a  very  bad  one." 

A  POOR    SEMPSTRESS. 

A  solitary  pale  young  thing — one  of  the  cloud  of 
genteel  phantoms  that  flit  across  our  daily  path — who 
compliment  life  by  endeavouring  to  live  by  needle  and 
thread. 

MISCALLED    PRIDE. 

There  is  a  miscalled  pride,  so  near  akin  to  selfishness 
I  cannot  choose  between.  If  the  man  I  love  refuse  my 
aid,  I  needs  must  think  'tis  that  when  my  turn  shall  come 
I  may  expect  no  aid  from  him. 

LOVE    AND    FRIENDSHIP. 

Though  love  cannot  dwell  in  a  heart,  friendship  may. 
Friendship  takes  less  room — it  has  no  wings. 

BAD    HEARTS. 

Some  people's  hearts  are  shrunk  in  them  like  dried 
nuts.     You  can  hear  'em  rattle  as  they  walk. 

A    LEARNED    PROFESSOR. 

He  had  studied  mankind  only  as  thieves  study  a  house 


JEREOLD'S   WIT.  37 

— to  take  advantage  of  the  weakest  parts  of  it.  The 
true  scholarship — for  how  rich  it  makes  the  best  profes- 
sors ! 

JOKES. 

They  are  the  luxury  of  beggars ;  men  of  substance  can't 
afford  'em. 

A   RUSTIC    VENUS. 

Talk  of  Venus  rising  from  the  sea  !  Were  I  to  paint  a 
Venus,  she  should  be  escaping  from  a  cottage  window ; 
with  a  face  now  white,  now  red,  as  the  roses  nodding 
about  it ;  an  eye  like  her  own  star  ;  lips  sweetening  the 
jasmine,  as  it  clings  to  hold  them  ;  a  face  and  form  in 
which  harmonious  thoughts  seem  as  vital  breath !  Noth- 
ing but  should  speak ;  her  little  hand  should  tell  a  love- 
tale  ;  nay,  her  very  foot,  planted  on  the  ladder,  should 
utter  eloquence  enough  to  stop  a  hermit  at  his  beads,  and 
make  him  watchman  while  the  lady  fled. 

COMMENTATORS. 

Worthy  folks  who  too  often  write  on  books,  as  men 
with  diamonds  write  on  glass — obscuring  light  with 
scratches. 

WICKED    OATHS. 

An  oath  that  binds  a  man  to  evil,  is  as  an  arrow  shot 
into  the  sky,  that,  turning,  falls  and  pierces  the  archer. 

CHILDREN. 

Children  are  earthly  idols  that  hold  us  from  the  stars. 

SELF-RESPECT. 

Self-respect !  why  it's  the  ballast  of  the  ship.     With- 


38  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

out  it,  let  the  craft  be  what  she  will,  she's  but  a  fine  sea- 
coflin  at  the  best. 

GAMBLING. 

I  never  by  chance  hear  the  rattling  of  dice  that  it 
doesn't  sound  to  me  like  the  funeral  bell  of  a  whole 
family. 

CONDESCENSION. 

There  are  people  who  make  even  a  million  a  very 
small  matter,  merely  by  the  condescending  way  of  speak- 
ing of  it. 

THE    HUMAN    HEART. 

I  learnt  to  reverence  the  human  heart  in  some  foul 
place,  some  very  nest  of  misery, — there  it  would  flourish 
in  its  best  beauty,  giving  out  even  in  such  an  atmosphere 
the  sweets  of  love  and  charity  and  resignation. 

DEEP   AFFECTION. 

"What  nature  hath  hung  about  our  hearts  passes  our 
surgery  with  skill  to  cut  away.  In  our  stoicism  we  think 
it  done,  but  the  wound  keeps  open,  and  the  blood  still 
runs. 

INGRATITUDE. 

We  are  too  apt  to  bury  our  accounts  along  with  our 
benefactors ;  to  enjoy  the  triumphs  of  others  as  though 
they  were  the  just  property  of  ourselves. 

STOLEN    MATCHES. 

There  are  good  dull  folks  who'd  doubt  of  lasting  love 
in  paradise — seeing  that  the  first  match  wanted  the  con- 
sent of  aunts  and  grandfathers. 


JERROLD'S    WIT.  39 

HEARTS. 

Every  man  talks  of  his  neighbour's  heart,  as  though  it 
was  his  own  watch, — a  thing  to  be  seen  in  all  its  works, 
and  abused  for  irregular  going. 

DEATH  IN  A  POOR  MAN'S  HOME. 

The  children  of  the  poor  have  curious  memories.  Death 
comes  not  to  their  home  a  stately  summoner,  veiling  its 
hideousness  with  robes  and  plumes,  but  stands  and  strikes 
upon  the  poor  man's  hearth — a  naked,  foul,  and  cruel 
thing  ;  but  ever  brings  a  blessing  to  the  house  prepared. 

CONCEIT. 

It  is  wonderful  to  think  how  near  conceit  is  to  insanity ; 
and  yet  how  many  folks  are  suffered  to  go  free,  and  foam- 
ing with  it. 

A    HEARTLESS     LANDLORD. 

If  he  had  a  tree,  and  but  one  squirrel  lived  in  it,  he'd 
take  its  nuts  sooner  than  allow  it  lodging  gratis. 

MARRIAGE. 

The  marriage  of  a  loved  child  may  seem  to  a  parent  a 
kind  of  death.  Yet  therein  a  father  pays  but  a  just  debt. 
Wedlock  gave  him  the  good  gift ;  to  wedlock,  then,  he 
owes  it. 

a  sailor's  idea  of  the  law. 

Beelzebub's  ship.     It  is  neither  privateer,  bombship, 

nor  letter  of  marque.    It  is  built  of  green  timber,  manned 

with  loplolly  boys  and  marines  ;  provisioned  with  mouldy 

biscuit  and  bilge  water,  and  fires  nothing  but  red  hot 


40  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

shot :   there's  no  grappling  with   or  hoarding  her  :    she 
always  sails  best  in  a  storm,  and  founders  in  fair  weather. 

man's  debts. 
Man  owes  two  solemn  debts  ;  one  to  society,  and  one 
to  nature.     It  is  only  when  he  pays  the  second  that  he 
covers  the  first. 

SPIES. 

He  who  turns  spy  for  pleasure,  wouldn't  stickle  to  be 
hangman  for  business. 

THE    SOFT    SEX. 

A  woman  is  like  tar — only  melt  her,  and  she  will  take 
any  form  you  please. 

LYING. 

Don't  give  your  mind  to  lying.  A  lie  may  do  very 
well  for  a  time,  but,  like  a  bad  shilling,  it's  found  out  at 
last. 

PLATONIC     LOVE. 

Plato  was  ever  a  good  master  of  the  ceremonies — just 
introducing  people,  and  then  politely  making  his  bow. 

children's  beauty. 
The  beauty  of  children  is  a  terror — a  fearful  loveliness. 

A    COLD    MAN. 

Jerrold  said  of  a  cold  comic  writer :  "  He'd  write  an 
epigram  upon  his  father's  tombstone  ! " 

FAIR    TRADE. 

You  mustn't  think  because  a  man  in  fair  trade  loves  a 
guinea,  that  his  heart  is  all  figures,  like  a  ready  reckoner 


JEREOLD'S   WIT.  41 

A    NAUTICAL    MAN    OF    STONE. 

A  fellow  that  would  sit  still  at  his  grog  at  the  cry  of 
" a  man  overboard  ! " 

TRUTH. 

la  this  world  truth  can  wait ;  she's  used  to  it. 

A    MEAN    MAN. 

Pie  grudges  a  canary  his  sugar,  and  counts  out  grains 
of  barley  to  his  horse  by  tens. 

A  DUELLIST 

is  only  Cain  in  high  life. 

A    GOOD    LIFE. 

How  beautiful  can  time,  with  goodness,  make  an  old 
man  look ! 

PERFECT    DISCONTENT. 

An  old  lady  was  in  the  habit  of  talking  to  Jerrold  in  a 
gloomy,  depressing  manner,  presenting  to  him  only  the 
sad  side  of  life.  "  Hang  it !  "  said  Jerrold,  one  day,  after 
a  long  and  sombre  interview,  "  she  wouldn't  allow  there 
was  a  bright  side  to  the  moon." 

DEATH. 

The  grave  is  the  true  purifier,  and,  in  the  charity  of 
the  living,  takes  away  the  blots  and  stains  from  the  dead. 

INTOXICATION. 

Habitual  intoxication  is  the  epitome  of  every  crime. 

YOUR    BED. 

Make  your  bed  as  a  coffin,  and  your  coffin  will  be  as  a 
bed. 


42  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

SAILORS. 

Sailors  can  do  anything.  All  they  have  to  do  with 
time  is  to  beat  it. 

COOLNESS. 

He  would  eat  oysters  while  his  neighbor's  house  was 
in  flames — always  provided  that  his  own  was  insured. 
Coolness  ! — he's  a  piece  of  marble,  carved  into  a  broad 
grin. 

DOGMATISM 

is  puppyism  come  to  its  full  growth. 

A   JOVIAL    BROKER. 

He  levies  a  distress  as  though  he  brought  a  card  of 
invitation  ;  giggles  himself  into  possession ;  makes  out 
the  inventory  with  a  chuckle ;  and  carts  off  chairs  and 
tables  to  "  Begone  dull  care,"  or,  "  How  merrily  we  live 
who  shepherds  be  !  " 

LUCKY   FELLOWS. 

Soldiers  are  lucky  fellows ;  all  hearts  enlist  for  them — 
and  recruit  for  them  very  often. 

VIRTUE. 

Virtue,  attempting  to  gloss  dishonesty,  if  it  doesn't 
grow  ashamed  and  break  down  in  the  oration,  ceases  to 
be  virtue. 

TITLES. 

Titles,  to  be  the  real  thing,  should  be  like  potatoes,  and 
turn  up  with  a  lot  of  land  about  'em. 

THE  DECENCIES  OF  MATRIMONY. 

To  feel  the  chains,  but  take  especial  care  the  world 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  43 

shall  not  hear  them  clank.     Tis  a  prudence  that  often 
passes  for  happiness. 

man's  strength. 
A  man  never  so  beautifully  shows  his  own  strength  as 
when  he  respects  woman's  softness. 

A    REFORMED    DRUNKARD. 

I've  heard  him  renounce  wine  a  hundred  times  a  day, 
but  then  it  has  been  between  as  many  glasses.  He  never 
takes  an  oath,  but  he  settles  it  with  a  bumper. 

A    MATTER-OF-FACT    MAN. 

Talk  to  him  of  Jacob's  ladder,  and  he  would  ask  the 
number  of  the  steps. 

AN    INVETERATE    TOPER. 

If  I  were  made  Doge  of  Venice,  instead  of  wedding 
the  ocean,  faith,  I'd  drop  a  ring  into  a  barrel  of  eau- 
de-vie. 

THE    POWER    OF    MONET. 

What  makes  the  elephant  powerful  ?  His  trunk  and 
tusks.  What  makes  the  lion  dangerous  ?  His  teeth  and 
claws.  And  what  tusks  and  teeth  are  to  the  lower  cx-ea- 
tures,  money  is  to  man. 

RESPECTABILITY. 

If  all  the  rascals  who,  under  the  semblance  of  a  smug 
respectability,  sow  the  world  with  dissensions  and  deceit, 
were  fitted  with  a  halter,  rope  would  double  its  price,  and 
the  executioner  set  up  his  carriage. 


44  JERROLD'S    WIT. 

A    DANGEROUS    PARTNER. 

At  a  meeting  of  literary  gentlemen,  a  proposition  for 
the  establishment  of  a  newspaper  arose.  The  shares  of 
the  various  persons  who  were  to  be  interested  were  in 
course  of  arrrangement,  when  an  unlucky  printer  sug- 
gested an  absent  litterateur,  who  was  as  remarkable  for 
his  imprudence  as  for  his  talent.  "  What !  "  exclaimed 
Jerrold,  "share  and  risk  with  him  !  Why  I  wouldn't  be 
partners  with  him  in  an  acre  of  Paradise ! " 

SNEERS    MADE    EAST. 

When  we've  lost  all  relish  for  w'ine,  'tis  marvellously 
easy  to  sneer  at  the  butler. 

A    TRUE    WOMAN, 

when  a  man  has  only  half  a  meaning,  supplies  the  other 
half.  It  is  that  which  makes  the  full  circle  of  the  wed- 
ding-ring. 

THE  HEROINE  OF  A  LOVE  STORY. 

A  mere  thing  of  goose-quill  and  foolscap ;  only  born  in 
a  garret  to  be  buried  in  a  trunk. 

A    MODEL    GAMBLER. 

Take  a  skeleton  from  the  box  of  an  anatomist,  give  its 
head  an  immovable  mask  of  flesh ;  clothe  the  skull,  but 
leave  all  besides  dry  bones  ;  make  it  calculate,  but  not 
feel ;  give  it  motion  but  not  life,  and  there's  your  model 
■ — there's  your  trading  gamester. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

The  great  magician,  who  has  left  immortal  company 


JERROLD'S    WIT.  45 

for  the  spirit  of  man  in  its  weary  journey  through  this 
briary  world — has  bequeathed  scenes  of  immortal  loveli- 
ness tor  the  human  fancy  to  delight  in — founts  of  eternal 
truth  for  the  lip  of  man  to  drink,  and  drink — and  for  aye 
to  be  renovated  with  every  draught. 

woman's  heart. 
A  woman's  heart,  like  a  singing-bird  in  a  cage,  if  neg- 
lected starves  and  dies  ;  but,  for  men's  hearts,  why  they're 
free  birds  of  prey — vultures  and  hawks — or  thievish  mag- 
pies at  the  best. 

PATRIOTISM. 

A  man  quarrelled  with  some  French  dragoons,  because 
he  would  insist  that  the  best  cocoa-nuts  grew  on  Prim- 
rose-hill, and  that  birds  of  Paradise  flew  about  St. 
James's.  Whenever  a  Frenchman  threw  him  down  a 
lie,  for  the  honor  of  England  he  always  trumped  it. 

SPEECH    MAKING. 

We  don't  look  for  long  speeches  from  men  of  wealth. 
We've  plenty  of  speakers  whose  only  bank  is  the  English 
language,  and  tremendously  they  draw  upon  it. 

HOW    THE    GOVERNMENT    IS    KEPT    UP. 

Like  an  hour-glass,  when  one  side 's  quite  run  out,  we 
turn  up  the  other,  and  go  on  again. 

READY    MONET. 

Work  for  ready  money.  Take  no  bill  upon  posterity  ; 
in  the  first  place,  there  are  many  chances  against  its  being 
paid  ;  and,  in  the  next,  if  it  be  duly  honoured,  the  cost 
may  be  laid  out  on  some  piece  of  bronze  or  marble  of  not 
the  slightest  value  to  the  original. 


46  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

MARRIED    LIFE    AND    SINGLE. 

They  who  live  single  all  their  life,  when  they  have 
sown  their  wild  oats  begin  to  sow  nettles  ;  whilst  the 
married,  from  the  first,  plant  orchards. 

THE    PERFECTION    OF    A    WOMAN. 

Beautiful — and  can  do  every  thing  but  speak ! 

WHITE    SAVAGES. 

Do  not  imagine  that  they  are  the  only  savages  whose 
skins  are  soot-colour,  who  wear  rings  through  their  noses, 
stick  parrot's  feathers  in  their  woolly  hair,  and  bow  to 
Murnbo  Jumbo  as  their  only  deity.  They  are  to  be  found 
amongst  the  whitest,  the  most  carefully  dressed,  and  most 
pious  of  London. 

A    MONET    LENDER'S    FACE. 

Don't  call  it  a  face — it's  like  a  bank-note,  every  line 
in  it  means  money. 

WORDS. 

In  their  intercourse  with  the  world,  people  should  not 
take  words  as  so  much  genuine  coin  of  standard  metal,  but 
merely  as  counters  that  people  play  with. 

a  lawyer's  flight. 

Witches  fly  upon  broomsticks — a  lawyer  may  come 
upon  justice. 

sensibility. 

A  man  who  would  thrive  in  the  world  has  no  such 
enemy  as  what  is  known  by  the  term  Sensibility.     It  is 


JEREOLD'S  WIT.  47 

to  walk  barefoot  in  a  mob  ;  at  every  step,  your  toes  are 
crushed  by  the  iron-shod  shoon  of  crowding  vagabonds, 
who  grin  from  ear  to  ear  at  the  wry  faces  you  make — at 
the  cries  that  may  escape  you. 

WHOLESOME    IDLENESS. 

Talk  not  of  the  idleness  which  is  full  of  quiet  thoughts. 
Is  it  idle  to  be  up  with  the  day — to  feel  the  balmy  cool- 
ness of  a  rich  May-dew — to  watch  the  coming  splendour 
of  the  sun — to  see  the  young  lambs  leap — to  hear  sing- 
ing, a  mile  above  us,  the  strong-throated  lark,  the  spirit 
of  the  scene — is  this  idle  ?  Yet  by  some  'tis  called  so. 
The  sluggard,  who  wakes  half  the  night  to  lay  lime-twigs 
for  poor  honesty  the  next  day ;  the  varlet,  who  acknowl- 
edges no  villainy  on  the  safe  side  of  an  act  of  parliament — 
he  calls  one  a  loiterer  and  a  time-killer.  Be  it  so — it 
does  not  spoil  the  fishing.  Idle  !  why,  angling  is  in  itself 
a  system  of  morality  ! 

THE    "WORLD    AND    THE    LAWS. 

Consider  the  whole  world  an  orchard,  guarded  by  the 
man-traps  and  spring-guns  of  laws ;  you  have  only  to 
know  where  the  laws  are  laid,  that,  though  you  intrude 
upon  them  ever  so  closely,  you  are  never  caught  or  hit 
by  them. 

PEWS. 

What  a  sermon  might  we  not  preach  upon  these  little 
boxes !  small  abiding-places  of  earthly  satisfaction,  sanc- 
tuaries for  self-complacency — in  God's  own  house,  the 
chosen  chambers  for  man's  self-glorification !  What  an 
instructive  colloquy  might  not  the  bare  deal  bench  of  the 
poor  church-goer  hold  with  the  soft-cushioned  seat  of  the 


48  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

miserable  sinners  who  chariot  it  to  prayers,  and  with 
their  souls  arrayed  in  sackcloth  and  ashes,  yet  kneel  in 
silk  and  miniver. 

LOVE    IN    BLACK   AND    WHITE. 

A  man's  in  no  danger  so  long  as  he  talks  his  love ;  but 
to  write  it  is  to  impale  himself  on  his  own  pot-hooks. 

FORTUNE. 

Fortune  is  called  harlot  every  hour  of  the  day,  and 
that,  too,  by  grave  gentlemen,  who  only  abuse  the  wench 
before  company  because  they  have  never  known  her  pri- 
vate favours.  But,  bad  as  she  is,  let  sour-faced  Seneca 
and  all  the  other  philosophers  of  the  vinegar-cruet  stalk 
Avith  paper  lanterns  before  her  door,  they  will  never  bring 
the  romping  hoyden  into  ill-repute. 

BLACK-LEG   PHILOSOPHY. 

I  consider  a  hand  of  cards  just  an  army  of  mercena- 
ries ;  and,  when  I  play,  believe  myself  no  more  than  an 
Alexander,  a  Pompey,  or  a  Julius  Caesar. 

LYING. 

The  world,  as  at  present  constituted,  could  not  go  on 
without  lying.  It  is  only  the  conviction  of  this  fact  that 
enables  so  many  worthy,  excellent  people  to  club  their 
little  modicum  together,  for  the  benevolent  purpose  of 
keeping  the  world  upon  its  axis. 

a  dramatist's  golden  rule. 

A  good  murder  is  now  the  very  life  of  a  drama.  Thus, 
if  a  playwright  would  fill  his  purse,  he  should  take  a  hint 
from  the  sugar-bakers,  and  always  refine  his  commodity 
with  blood. 


JERROLD'S    WIT. 


49 


TRUTH. 

He  who  in  this  world  resolves  to  speak  only  the  truth, 
will  speak  only  what  is  too  good  for  the  mass  of  mankind 
to  understand,  and  will  be  persecuted  accordingly. 

HOW    TO    BE    SOMEBODY. 

If  you'd  pass  for  somebody,  you  must  sneer  at  a  play, 
but  idolize  Punch.  I  know  the  most  refined  folks,  who'd 
not  budge  a  foot  to  hear  Garrick,  would  give  a  guinea 
each — nay,  mob  for  a  whole  morning — to  see  a  'Green- 
lander  eat  seal's  flesh  and  swallow  whale-oil. 

DIFFIDENCE. 

It  is  an  acquaintance  that  hourly  picks  your  pocket ; 
that  makes  you  hob  and  nob  with  fustian,  when  otherwise 
you  might  jostle  it  with  court  ruffles. 

AN    ANGLER'S    FLY. 

Make  it  thus : — Take  a  piece  of  honesty  for  the  body ; 
whip  it  round  about  with  the  strong  thread  of  resolution ; 
add  thereto  the  wings  of  cheerfulness,  the  sky-blue  crest 
of  hope,  the  tail  of  meekness.  Bind  the  fly  to  the  silver 
hook  of  independence ;  then  cast  it  into  the  stream  of  the 
world,  and  though  many  a  hungry  pike  may  snap  at  it, 
yet  be  assured  you  will  hook  the  golden  fish,  a  good 
conscience. 

LENDING. 

There  are  three  things  that  no  man  but  a  fool  lends,  or, 
having  lent,  is  not  in  the  most  hopeless  state  of  mental 
crassitude  if  he  ever  hope  to  get  back  again.     These 
three  things  are — Books,  umbrellas,  and  money. 
4 


50  JEREOLD'S  WIT. 

ONE    LEG    IN    THE    GRAVE. 

People  with  one  leg  in  the  grave  are  so  devilish  long 
before  they  put  in  the  other.  They  seem  like  birds,  to 
repose  better  on  one  leg. 

A   BAD    NAME. 

Having  acquired  a  name  for  ill-nature,  or,  in  reality, 
having  acquired  a  fatal  reputation  for  using  your  eyes,  it 
is  in  vain  to  deal  in  praise  of  anything.  The  people  who 
profess  to  know  you,  will,  like  witches,  read  even  your 
prayers  backwards. 

SITTING    FOR    YOUR    PORTRAIT 

If  there  be  a  plague  upon  earth,  it  is  the  plague  of 
sitting  under  a  continual  struggle  to  call  into  your  face, 
and  keep  there,  your  very  prettiest  and  most  amiable 
look,  until  duly  fastened  by  pigments  upon  wainscot  or 
canvas. 

MARRIED    HAPPINESS. 

Married  happiness  is  a  glass  ball ;  folks  play  with  it 
during  the  honeymoon,  till  falling,  it  is  shivered  to  pieces  j 
and  the  rest  of  life  is  a  wrangle  who  broke  it. 

A    CROTCHETY    MAN. 

He  is  one  of  those  fellows  who  dive,  into  the  well  of 
truth,  and  croak  only  with  the  frogs  at  the  bottom. 

THE    NEWGATE    CALENDAR. 

A  mine  of  gold  from  which  philosophic  novelists  have 
cast  pocket-heroes  for  heroes,  and  mantel-piece  ornaments 
for  boarding-schools. 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  51 


THE    INVENTOR    OF    GUNPOWDER. 

They  say  a  parson  first  invented  gunpowder,  but  one 
cannot  believe  it  till  one  is  married. 

PATIENCE. 

Once  upon  a  time  Patience  wanted  a  nightingale. 
Well,  Patience  waited,  and  the  egg  sang. 

THE    PHILOSOPHER'S    STONE. 

The  true  philosopher's  stone  is  only  intense  impudence. 

HUMBUG. 

The  cement  of  the  social  fabric — the  golden  cord  tying 
together  and  making  strong  the  sticks  and  twigs  of  the 
world.  The  dulcet  bell,  whose  ravishing  sound  calls  the 
great  family  of  man  to  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry. 

REAL    FULLERS'    EARTH. 

Grave-dust,  that  truest  fullers'  earth,  surely  takes  out 
the  negro  stain. 

THE    GAMESTER. 

He  is  indeed  a  privileged  person  ;  a  creature  who 
merges  all  the  petty  wearying  anxieties  of  life  into  one 
sublime  passion.  Become  a  gamester,  and  you  are  forti- 
fied,  nay,  exempt  from  the  assaults  of  divers  other  feelings 
that  distract  and  worry  less  happy  men.  Gaming  is  a 
moral  Aaron's  rod,  and  swallows  up  all  meaner  passions. 

STOCK-JOBBERS. 

The  mere  money-changers — the  folks  who  carry  their 
sullen  souls  in  the  corners  of  their  pockets,  and  think  the 
site  of  Eden  is  covered  with  the  Mint. 


52  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

hunger's  welcome  guest. 

When  a  man  has  nothing  in  his  cupboard,  fever  is  his 

best  guest. 

readers. 

Readers  are  of  two  sorts.  There  is  a  reader  who  care- 
fully goes  through  a  book ;  and  there  is  a  reader  who  as 
carefully  lets  the  book  go  through  him. 

GRATIS. 

Gratis  !  It  is  the  voice  of  Nature  speaking  from  the 
fulness  of  her  large  heart.  The  word  is  written  all  over 
the  blue  heaven  ;  the  health-giving  air  whispers  it  about 
us ;  it  rides  the  sunbeam  (save  when  statesmen  put  a 
pane  'twixt  us  and  it)  ;  the  lark  trills  it  high  up  in  its 
skyey  dome  ;  the  little  wayside  flower  breathes  gratis  from 
its  pinky  mouth  ;  the  bright  brook  murmurs  it ;  it  is 
written  in  the  harvest  moon.  And  yet  how  rarely  do  we 
seize  the  happiness,  because,  forsooth,  it  is  a  joy  gratis ! 

DRUNKENNESS. 

Never  get  drunk — that  is,  in  company — above  the 
girdle.  There  is  a  thermometer  of  drunkenness  which 
every  wise  young  man  who  has  to  elbow  his  way  through 
the  world  would  do  well  to  consider.  A  man  may  be 
knee-drunk,  hip-drunk,  shoulder-drunk,  nay,  chin-drunk  ; 
but  the  wine  should  be  allowed  to  rise  no  higher. 

a  doctor's  livery. 

A  very  popular  medical  gentleman  called  on  Jerrold 
one  day.  When  the  visitor  was  about  to  leave,  Jerrold, 
looking  from  his  library  window,  espied  his  friend's  car- 
riage, attended  by  servants  in  flaming  liveries. 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  53 

Jerrold. — "  What !  doctor,  I  see  jour  livery  is  measles 
turned  up  with  scarlet  fever." 

FLATTERY. 

Whatever  dirty-shirted  philosophers  may  say  to  the 
contrary,  flattery  is  a  fine  social  thing ;  the  beautiful 
handmaid  of  life,  casting  flowers  and  odoriferous  herbs  in 
the  paths  of  men,  who,  crushing  out  the  sweets,  curl  up 
their  noses  as  they  snuff  the  odour,  and  walk  half  an  inch 
higher  to  heaven  by  what  they  tread  upon. 

COME  in  ! 

He  has  escaped  somewhat  of  the  smitings  of  this  single- 
stick world,  who,  when  he  hears  knuckles  at  his  postern, 
can  throw  himself  back  in  his  chair  like  a  king  upon 
his  throne,  and  without  a  qualm  of  the  heart,  cry,  "  Come 
in!" 

women's  fear  of  jokes. 
There  are  various  ways  of  attaching  the  sex :  but  the 
surest  is,  not  to  attempt  to  shine  and  sparkle  and  go  off 
in  crackers  of  jokes  before  them.  Women,  somehow, 
have  the  same  fear  of  witty  men  as  of  fireworks ;  and 
thus,  how  often  do  pretty,  lively  creatures  link  themselves 
to  fools  ! 

THE    GREATEST    ANIMAL    IN    CREATION. 

The  animal  that  cooks. 

PIG   AND    PORK. 

When  my  lady  sees  master  pig  munching  and  wallow- 
ing in  a  ditch,  she  curls  her  nose  and  lifts  her  shoulders 
at  his  nastiness.     And  lo  !  when  the  same  pig's  leg,  fra- 


54  JERROLD'S    WIT. 

grant  with  sage  and  patriarchal  onions,  smokes  upon  the 
board,  the  same  lady  sendeth  her  plate  three  times. 

PUBLIC    OPINION. 

Public  opinion  is  the  terrible  Inquisition  of  modern 
times  ;  and  those  who,  in  a  former  age,  were  by  their 
birth  and  office  held  the  elect  and  chosen,  are  unceremo- 
niously dragged  forth,  questioned,  and  doomed  to  an  auto 
da  fe. 

PICKING   UP    CHARACTER. 

Jerrold  met  Alfred  Bunn  one  day  in  Jermyn-street. 
Bunn  stopped  Jerrold,  and  said,  "  What !  I  suppose 
you're  strolling  about,  picking  up  character." 

Jerrold. — "  Well,  not  exactly ;  but  there's  plenty  lost 
hereabouts." 

PROSINESS. 

An  old  gentleman,  whom  we  may  call  Prosy  Very — 
the  "  prosy  "  having  been  affixed  to  his  name  by  his  suf- 
fering listeners — was  in  the  habit  of  meeting  Jerrold,  and 
pouring  long  pointless  stories  into  his  impatient  ears.  On 
one  occasion  Prosy  related  a  long,  limp  account  of  a  stu- 
pid practical  joke,  concluding  with  the  information  that 
the  effect  of  the  joke  was  so  potent,  "  he  really  thought 
he  should  have  died  with  laughter." 

"  I  wish  to  heaven  you  had,"  was  Jerrold's  reply. 

DREAMS. 

Happy  is  the  man  who  may  tell  all  his  dreams. 

THE    CRY   OP    THE    DRAPERS'   ASSISTANTS. 

These  men  are   clamouring  for  leisure — for  time  for 


JERROLD'S    WIT.  55 

sel£-improvernent !  What  would  they  have  ?  Are  they 
not  the  chosen  servitors  of  the  fair  ?  Do  they  not  for 
nine,  ten,  eleven  hours  per  diem,  only  six  days  in  the 
week,  live  in  the  very  atmosphere  of  beauty  ?  What 
have  they  to  do  but  to  take  down  and  put  by,  to  smile,  to 
speak  softly,  to  protest — and,  for  the  benefit  of  the  "  con- 
cern," to  tell  a  lie  with  the  grace  of  perfect  gentlemen  ? 

A   GOOD    NAME    WHEN   TOO    LATE. 

How  often  does  it  happen  that  a  man  learns  that  he 
had  a  good  name,  only  when  he  ceases  to  possess  it !  If 
a  man  would  know  what  his  friends  thought  of  him,  let  it 
be  given  out  that  he  is  dead,  or  has  unfortunately  picked 
a  pocket.  Then  mute  opinion  finds  a  tongue — "  He  was 
the  best  of  fellows." 

THE  EXAMPLE  OP  THE  HANGMAN. 

Death  would  indeed  be  punishment,  could  it  only  be 
administered  by  the  executioner  ;  but  as  God  has  made  it 
the  draught  for  all  men — the  inevitable  cup  to  be  drained 
to  the  dregs  by  all  who  live — since  there  is  not  one  man 
privileged  to  pass  it — is  not  that  a  strange  punishment  for 
the  deepest  wickedness  of  guilt,  if  the  same  evil  must  at 
the  last  foreclose  the  life  of  the  nobly  good  ? 

SLANDER. 

If  slander  be  a  snake,  it  is  a  winged  one — it  flies  as 
well  as  creeps. 

THE    FIRST    MUSIC-SELLER. 

The  ballad-singer  was  the  first  music-seller  in  the  land. 
Ye  well-stocked,  flourishing  vendors  of  fashiorable  scores, 
deign  to  cast  a  look  through  plate  glass  at  your  poor  yet 


56  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

great  original,  barefooted  and  in  rags,  singing  unabashed 
amidst  London  wagon-wheels  :  behold  the  true  descend- 
ant of  the  primitive  music-seller — of  him  who  even  two 
centuries  ago,  sold  his  lays  without  the  help  of  other  com- 
mendation than  his  own  cracked  yet  honest  voice. 

bottom's  descendants. 
The  immortal  weaver  of  Athens  hath  a  host  of  descend- 
ants ;  they  are  scattered  throughout  every  country  of  the 
world  ;  their  moral  likeness  to  their  sage  ancestor  becom- 
ing stronger  in  the  land  of  luxury  and  wealth.  They  are 
a  race  marked  and  distinguished  by  the  characteristics  of 
their  first  parent — omnivorous  selfishness  and  invulner- 
able self-complacency.  They  wear  the  ass's  head,  yet 
know  it  not ;  and,  heedless  of  the  devotion,  leave  the  Ti- 
tania  fortune  still  to  round  their  temples  "  with  coronets 
of  fresh  and  fragrant  flowers." 

THE    STROLLING    PLAYER. 

He  is  the  merry  preacher  of  the  noblest,  grandest  les- 
sons of  human  thought.  He  is  the  poet's  pilgrim,  and, 
in  the  forlornest  by-ways  and  abodes  of  men,  calls  forth 
new  sympathies — sheds  upon  the  cold,  dull  trade  of  real 
life  an  hour  of  poetic  glory,  "  making  a  sunshine  in  a 
shady  place."  He  informs  human  clay  with  thoughts 
and  throbbings  that  refine  it ;  and  for  this  he  was  for  cen- 
turies "  a  rogue  and  a  vagabond,"  and  is,  even  now,  a 
long,  long  day's  march  from  the  vantage-ground  of  re- 
spectability. 

A    SUGGESTIVE   PRESENT. 

Jerrold  and  a  company  of  literary  friends  were  out  in 
the  country,  rambling  over  commons  and  down  lanes.    In 


JERROLD'S    WIT.  57 

the  course  of  their  walk,  they  stopped  to  notice  the  gam- 
bols of  an  ass's  foal.  There  was  a  very  sentimental  poet 
among  the  baby  ass's  admirers,  who  grew  eloquent  as 
Sterne  over  its  shaggy  coat.  At  last  the  poet  vowed  that 
he  should  like  to  send  the  little  thing  as  a  present  to  his 
mother.  "  Do,"  Jerrold  replied,  "  and  tie  a  piece  of 
paper  round  its  neck,  bearing  this  motto — '  "When  this  you 
see,  remember  me.' " 

SUCCESS. 

No  matter  for  his  birthplace,  his  parentage — success 
has  all-in-all  in  his  name.  Though  he  were  born  on  the 
wayside,  his  mother  a  gipsy,  and  his  father  a  clipper  of 
coin — for  his  name,  and  name  alone,  men  shall  bow  down 
and  worship  him.  Desert  weeps  at  the  early  grave  of 
the  broken-hearted ;  success  eats  ortolans  with  a  quack- 
salver at  threescore.  We  may  certainly  be  brought  to 
allow  the  possible  existence  of  unrewarded  desert ;  but 
for  success,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  his  vitality. 

A   METAPHYSICIAN. 

He  could  take  mind  to  pieces  as  easily  as  a  watch- 
maker could  take  a  chronometer  to  bits — knew  every 
little  spring  of  human  actions,  and,  in  a  word,  looked 
through  the  heads  of  the  sons  and  daughters  of  Eve  as 
easily  as  though  they  were  of  glass,  and  the  motives 
therein  working,  labouring  bees. 

THE    POSTMAN'S    BUDGET. 

A  strange  volume  of  real  life  is  the  daily  packet  of  the 
postman !  Eternal  love,  and  instant  payment !  Dim 
visions  of  Hymen  and  the  turnkey ;  the  wedding  ring  and 
the  prison  bolt !     Next  to  come  upon  the  sinful  secrets  of 


58  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

the  quiet,  respectable  man — the  worthy  soul,  ever  vir- 
tuous because  never  found  out — to  unearth  the  hypocrite 
from  folded  paper,  and  see  all  his  iniquity  blackening  in 
white  sheet !  And  to  fall  upon  a  piece  of  simple  goodness 
— a  letter  gushing  from  the  heart ;  a  beautiful  unstudied 
vindication  of  the  worth  and  untiring  sweetness  of  human 
nature — a  record  of  the  invulnerability  of  man,  armed 
with  high  purpose,  sanctified  by  truth. 

THE    DEATH    OF    A    SWINDLER. 

When  the  plodding,  sober,  thrifty  man  quits  this  noisy 
world — made  noisy  by  the  incessant  rattling  of  pounds, 
shillings,  and  pence — it  is  ten  to  one  that  he  makes  what 
is  generally  called  an  irreparable  gap  in  a  very  large  cir- 
cle of  affectionate  friends.  How  different  the  death  of  a 
swindler  !  He  leaves  no  irreparable  gap  in  society — not 
he  '  He  agonizes  neither  man  nor  woman,  nor  child  ;  not 
a  tear  is  dropped  at  his  grave — not  a  sigh  rises  at  the 
earth  rattling  on  his  coffin ! 

GOOD    AND    ILL    LUCK. 

Shall  not  one  varlet  ruffle  it  in  mobs,  flounder  through 
many  dirty  ways,  struggle  through  a  maze  of  briers,  and 
still  have  his  good  name — we  mean  his  superfine  cloak — 
without  a  wrinkle  in  it,  a  spot  upon  it,  a  tear — yea,  even 
the  fracture  of  a  thread  in  it  ?  And  yet,  put  the  same 
cloak  upon  another,  and,  though  he  shall  suffer  from  a 
casual  jostling,  though  he  shall  tread  a  muddy  walk  care- 
fully as  a  cat,  and  only  tarry  a  moment  to  gather  a  dog- 
rose  from  a  bush  at  the  wayside,  and — phew  ! — what  an 
unseemly  rumpling  of  his  garment — what  splashes  of  foul- 
est mud  upon  it ! 


JERROLD'S    WIT.  59 

THE    INTRUDER    REBUKED. 

Jerrold  and  some  friends  were  dining  in  a  private  room 
at  a  tavern.  After  dinner,  the  landlord  appeared,  and 
having  informed  the  company  that  the  house  was  partly 
under  repair,  and  that  he  was  inconvenienced  for  want  of 
room,  requested  that  a  stranger  might  be  allowed  to  take 
a  chop  at  a  separate  table  in  the  apartment.  The  com- 
pany assented,  and  the  stranger,  a  person  of  common- 
place appearance,  was  introduced.  He  ate  his  chop  in 
silence ;  but,  having  finished  his  repast  he  disposed  him- 
self for  those  forty  winks  which  make  the  sweetest  sleep  of 
gourmets.  But  the  stranger  snored  so  loudly  arid  inhar- 
moniously  that  conversation  was  disturbed.  Some  gen- 
tlemen of  the  party  now  jarred  glasses,  or  shuffled  upon 
the  floor,  determined  to  arouse  the  obnoxious  sleeper. 
Presently  the  stranger  started  from  his  sleep  and  to  his 
legs,  and  shouted  to  Jerrold,  "  I  know  you,  Mr.  Jerrold  ; 
but  you  shall  not  make  a  butt  of  me ! "  "  Then  don't 
bring  your  hog's  head  in  here,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 

THE    INCONVENIENCES    OF    POVERTY. 

"What  wrigglings,  and  strugglings,  and  heart-burnings, 
are  every  day  acted  and  endured  to  stand  well  with  the 
world  ;  that  is,  to  stand  without  a  hole  in  our  hat,  or  a 
damning  rent  in  our  smallclothes  !  The  modern  man  is 
wonderfully  spiritualized  by  this  philosophy ;  so  much  io, 
that  if  he  can  secure  to  himself  a  display  of  the  collar, 
he  is  almost  wholly  unconscious  of  the  absence  of  the 
shirt. 

THE    USES    OF    THE    UNDERTAKER. 

The  undertaker  is  sometimes  called  upon  to  make  up, 
by  one  great  show — by  the  single  pageant  of  an  hour — 


60  JEEEOLD'S   WIT. 

for  the  neglect  and  misery  shown  and  inflicted  for  years 
by  the  living  to  the  dead.  How  many  a  poor  relation  has 
pined  and  died  in  a  garret,  disregarded  by  wealthy  kin- 
dred, who  profusely  lavish  upon  clay  what  they  denied  to 
beating  flesh  and  blood. 

ACCOMMODATION    BILLS. 

There  is  one  objection  to  a  bill — it  puts  another  pair 
of  wings  to  the  back  of  Time. 

REPUTATIONS. 

Strange  it  is,  but  reputations,  like  beavers  and  cloaks, 
shall  last  some  people  twice  the  time  of  others  ;  not  that 
there  shall  be  the  slightest  difference  in  the  quality  of  the 
article — no,  not  a  whit — the  commodity  shall  be  the  same 
to  a  thread. 

A    LONDON    HOVEL. 

One  of  those  abodes  of  dirt,  and  crime,  and  famine, 
that,  within  gunshot  of  the  houses  of  luxury  and  affluence, 
serve  as  the  constant  theme  for  legislative  philanthropy ; 
places  from  which  smug  Theory,  with  weeping  eyes  and 
heaving  breast,  holds  forth  many  a  touching  discourse ; 
but  where  dogged  Practice  never  shows  his  nose  to  de- 
crease the  abomination. 

THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    SWINDLING. 

All  mankind  may  be  divided  into  two  classes :  the 
swindlers  according  to  custom  and  to  law,  and  the  swin- 
dlers according  to  the  bent  of  their  natural  genius. 

A    TRUE    SWINDLER. 

With  your  true  swindler  the  brain  must  have  played 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  61 

the  Aaron's  rod  to  the  heart — swallowing  it  whole ;  a 
miracle  very  often  performed  in  the  anatomy  of  great 
public  men. 

SHOWY    FUNERALS. 

The  trappings  of  the  defunct  are  but  the  outward  dress- 
ings of  the  pride  of  the  living  :  the  undertaker,  in  all  his 
melancholy  pomp,  his  dingy  bravery,  waits  upon  the 
quick,  and  not  the  dead. 

A    THEATRICAL    MANAGER. 

A  manager  who  really  knows  his  business  will  make  a 
most  effulgent  "  star  "  out  of  nothing  better  than  block- 
tin — nay,  cut  a  whole  'constellation  from  so  much  foil- 
paper,  as  easily  as  a  school-girl,  with  precocious  contempt 
of  Malthus,  will  cut  out  a  population  from  an  old  copy- 
book. 

PUBLIC    COMPANIES. 

Take  ten,  twenty,  thirty  men — creatures  of  light — ad- 
mirable, estimable,  conscientious  persons — by-words  of 
excellence,  proverbs  of  truth  in  their  individual  dealings  ; 
and  yet,  make  of  them  a  "  board,"  a  "  committee,"  a 
"  council,"  a  "  company,"  no  matter  what  may  be  the  col- 
lective name  by  which  they  may  be  known,  and  imme- 
diately every  member  will  acknowledge  the  quickening 
of  feeling — the  sudden  growth  of  an  indomitable  lust  to 
swindle. 

THE    PENALTY    OF    THE    DINER    OUT. 

He  must  have  a  passionate  love  for  children.  He  must 
so  comport  himself,  that  when  his  name  shall  be  an- 
nounced, every  child  in  the  mansion  shall  set  up  a  yell — 


62  JERROLD'S    WIT. 

a  scream  of  rapture — shall  rush  to  him,  pull  his  coat-tails, 
climb  on  his  back,  twist  their  fingers  in  his  hair,  snatch 
his  watch  from  his  pocket ;  and  whilst  they  rend  his 
super-Saxony,  load  his  shoulders,  uncurl  his  wig,  and 
threaten  instant  destruction  to  the  repeater,  he  must  stifle 
the  agony  at  his  heart  and  his  pocket,  and  to  the  feebly- 
expressed  fears  of  the  mamma  that  the  children  are 
troublesome,  must  call  into  every  corner  of  his  face  a  look 
of  the  most  seraphic  delight. 

HIGH   BLOOD. 

High  blood,  like  the  finest  wine,  may  be  kept  so  long 
that  it  shall  entirely  lose  its  flavour.  Hence,  the  last 
man  of  an  old  family  may  be  like  the  last  bottle  of  a 
famous  vintage — a  thing  to  talk  of,  not  to  use. 

LIGHT    IN    DARKNESS. 

Live  in  London !  a  butterfly  in  a  dark  lantern. 

THE  VAGABOND. 

Your  real,  quick-blooded,  genial  vagabond,  is  the  ara- 
besque of  life.  Talk  of  cabinet  dinners — give  us  vaga- 
bond suppers ! 

THE    INTEMPERANCE    OF   THE    POOR. 

We  talk  of  the  intemperance  of  the  poor ;  why,  when 
we  philosophically  consider  the  crushing  miseries  that 
beset  them — the  keen  suffering  of  penury,  and  the  mock- 
ery of  luxury  and  profusion  with  which  it  is  surrounded 
— my  wonder  is,  not  that  there  are  so  many  who  pur- 
chase temporary  oblivion  of  their  misery,  but  that  there 
are  so  few. 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  ()3 

THE    SCHOOL    BIRCH. 

The  school  birch — dead  twigs  though  it  seem — buds 
and  bears  fruit.  The  child  feels  only  the  branches,  but 
how  often  is  the  produce  ashes  in  the  mouth  of  manhood ! 

AN   ALTERNATIVE. 

A  girl,  proud  of  her  father's  wealth,  and  shrewdly 
counting  up  the  measure  of  its  power,  declared  once  to 
Jerrold,  that  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  marry  a  lord. 
But  time  wore  on,  and  still  no  lord  made  even  a  nibble 
at  the  hook  baited  with  bank-notes.  The  girl  began  to 
feel  nervous  :  and  still  Time's  hour-glass  dribbled,  in  no 
way  impeded  by  the  poor  girl's  rapid  progress  towards 
thirty.  At  last,  the  soured  woman  became  religious. 
"  Ah,"  said  Jerrold,  "  as  the  lord  would  not  come  to  her, 
she  has  gone  to  the  Lord." 

A    PEER    IN    HIS    MINORITY. 

Nothing  so  succulent  (to  a  money-lender)  as  a  peer 
under  age,  to  be  eaten  in  due  time,  with  post  obit  sauce. 

FIRST    IMPRESSIONS.       - 

How  was  the  girl  smitten  ?  As  they  kill  partridges — 
at  first  sight. 

A    FRUITFUL    VICARAGE. 

It  is  a  fruitful  nook,  where  there  is  an  hourly  struggle 
between  the  rector  and  his  geese  which  shall  be  the  fat- 
test, man  or  birds. 

A    SON    OF   MARS    IN    A    SHELL-JACKET. 

A  young  recruit  is  an   egg ;  he  may  become  a  house- 


64  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

hold  tiling — on  the  contrary,  he  may  stalk  along  the 
plain,  a  mighty  victor  !  Never  do  we  see  a  raw  recruit 
that  we  do  not  think  of  an  unboiled  egg. 

ENGLISH    PRISONS    DEFENDED. 

An  English  prisoner  in  France  loquitur : — 
The  prison  here  is  tolerably  strong,  but  not  to  be 
spoken  of  after  Newgate.  As  for  their  locks,  they 
haven't  one  fit  for  a  tea-caddy.  The  rats  at  nights  come 
in  regiments.  We're  allowed  no  candle  ;  but  we  can  feel 
as  they  run  over  our  faces  that  they  must  be  contemptible 
in  the  eyes  of  Englishmen. 

TRUE    WORTH. 

True  worth,  like  the  rose,  will  blush  at  its  own  sweet- 
ness. 

READING   FOR    LADIES. 

When  I  was  young,  girls  used  to  read  "  Pilgrim's 
Progress,"  Jeremy  Taylor,  and  such  books  of  innocence. 
Now,  young  ladies  know  the  ways  of  Newgate  as  well  as 
the  turnkeys.  Then,  books  gave  girls  hearty,  healthy 
food ;  now,  silly  things !  like  lai-ks  in  cages,  they  live 
upon  hemp-seed. 

FRIENDSHIP. 

Oh,  friendship !  thou  divinest  alchemist,  that  man 
should  ever  profane  thee  ! 

MATERNAL    INSTINCT. 

One  of  the  most  touching  instances  of  the  maternal 
instinct,  as  it  has  been  called,  in  children,  once  came 
under  my  notice.     A  wretched  woman  with  an  infant  in 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  g5 

her  arms — mother  and  child  in  very  tatters — solicited  the 
alms  of  a  nursery-maid  passing  with  a  child  clothed  in 
the  most  luxurious  manner,  hugging  a  wax  doll.  Thf 
mother  followed  the  girl,  begging  for  relief,  "  to  get  bread 
for  her  child,"  whilst  the  child  itself,  gazing  at  the  treas- 
ure in  the  arms  of  the  baby  of  prosperity,  cried,  "  Mam- 
my, when  will  you  buy  me  a  doll  ?  " 

A   FRENCH    COOK    EXTINGUISHED. 

I  pity  you  French.    Talk  of  consomme  de  grenouilles  ;. 
did  you  ever  taste  our  habeas  corpus  ?     No  !     Ha ! 

GUT  FAWKES. 

Who  was  Guy  Fawkes  ?  Did  he  have  a  father  and 
mother  ?  Was  he  ever  a  little  boy,  and  did  he  fly  a  kite 
and  play  at  marbles  ?  If  so,  how  could  he  have  ever 
thought  it  worth  his  while  to  trouble  himself  with  other 
matters  ?  Guy  Fawkes,  a  boy  !  a  baby  !  now  shaking  a 
rattle — now  murmuring  as  he  fed,  his  mother  smiling 
down  upon  him !  No,  no,  it  was  impossible !  Guy 
Fawkes  was  never  born — he  was  from  the  first  a  man — 
he  never  could  have  been  a  baby.  He  is  in  our  baby- 
thoughts  a  mysterious  vision — one  of  the  shadows  of  evil 
advancing  on  the  path  of  childhood.  We  grow  older, 
and  the  substances  of  evil  come  close  upon  is — we  see 
their  dark-lanterns  and  snuff"  the  brimstone. 

A   NECESSARY   CONSEQUENCE. 

A  pretentious  young  gentleman,  elaborately  dressed  for 
an  evening  party,  and  whose  hair  was  of  that  inflamma- 
tory hue  which  is  now  generally  regarded  as  undesirable, 
once  thrust  his  head  into  the  smoking-room  of  the  Mu- 
seum Club,  and   exclaimed,  "  Egad,  I  can't  stay  in  this 


6G  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

cloud."  "  I  don't  see,"  replied  Jerrold,  "  how  it  can  hurt 
you.  Where  there's  fire,  there  must  be  smoke  !  "  The 
inflammatory  head  was  immediately  withdrawn. 

A    BACCHANAL    USURER. 

He  lends  half  in  gold  and  half  in  poison  :  so  many 
pounds  sterling ;  and  so  much  bad  vinegar,  that  having 
been  kept  near  port,  must,  as  he  conceives,  have  a  vinous 
flavour. 

A  child's  faith. 
The  child  passively  accepts  a  story  of  the  future ;  he 
can  bring  his  mind  up  to  a  thing  promised,  but  wants 
faith  in  the  past. 

BEAUTY    UNADORNED. 

Take  a  sailor's  advice.  Don't  colour  at  all ;  where 
nature  has  clone  so  well,  there's  little  need  of  paint  or 
patches. 

SINDBAD    AND    THE    OLD    MAN    OF    THE    MOUNTAIN. 

That  is  a  fine  allegory,  though  not  understood.  The 
truth  is,  the  Old  Man  drew  a  bill,  and  Sindbad — guile- 
less tar ! — accepted  it. 

THE    ENGLISH    ABROAD. 

The  inn  at  which  the  cockney  puts  up — it  is  his  boast 
— is  kept  by  an  Englishman  ;  the  dinners  are  English ; 
the  waiter  is  English  ;  the  chambermaid  is  English  ;  the 
boots  is  English ;  and  the  barber  who  comes  to  shave 
him,  if  he  be  not  English,  has  at  least  this  recommenda- 
tion— he  has  in  his  time  lived  five  years  in  Saint  Mary 
Axe,  and  is  almost  English. 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  (57 

ELEGANT    PORTRAIT-PAINTING. 

They  painted  me  with  a  military  cloak  slipping  off  my 
shoulders,  my  hand,  with  ten  rings  upon  it,  supporting 
my  head,  my  forehead  an  enormous  piece  of  white  paint, 
and  my  eyes  fixed  upon  a  star,  poetically  placed  in  the 
corner  of  the  picture  within  an  inch  of  the  frame.  I  was 
seated  on  a  rock,  with  a  very  handsome  ink-stand  beside 
me,  and  my  right  hand  grasping,  as  if  in  a  spasm  of  in- 
spiration, an  eagle's  feather  !  Altogether  I  made  a  very 
pretty  show. 

A    WALKING   ADVERTISEMENT. 

A  certain  philosopher  of  this  time,  who  has  played — 
and  wisely — with  many  sciences,  and  has  been  jocund 
among  the  wits  of  the  day,  was  discovered  one  day  by 
Jen-old  busy  with  crucibles,  retorts,  acids,  and  alkalies, 
making  a  mysterious  experiment.  The  prudent  philoso- 
pher had  encased  himself  from  head  to  foot  in  a  suit  of 
black  oil-cloth.  "  Why,"  said  Jerrold,  "  you  look  like  a 
walking  advertisement  of  Warren's  blacking  !  " 

A    MAIDEN'S    VOICE. 

Her  voice — 'twould  coax  a  nail  out  of  heart  of  oak. 

A    FREE    MAN. 

Be  sure  of  it,  he  who  dines  out  of  debt,  though  his 
meal  be  biscuit  and  an  onion,  dines  in  "  The  Apollo." 

A    WORD    FOR    THIEVES. 

When  the  full-grown  thief  is  hanged,  do  we  not  some- 
times forget  that  he  was  the  child  of  misery  and  vice — 
born  for  the  gallows — nursed  for  the  halter?     Did  we 


68  JEEROLD'S  WIT. 

legislate  a  little  more  for  the  cradle,  might  we  not  be 
spared  some  pains  for  the  hulks  ? 

DOG    IN    THE    MANGER. 

Because  he  hadn't  the  heart  to  fall  in  love  himself,  he 
must  spoil  the  little  love  of  every  body  else ;  just  like 
the  boy  who  blabbed  about  the  stolen  apples,  only  be- 
cause he  hadn't  the  courage  to  go  into  the  orchard. 

AUTHORS    AND    SCHOLARS. 

Can  it  be  true  that,  since  the  days  of  Johnson  and 
Savage,  they  have  descended  a  story  and  live  in  third 
floors  ?  Are  they  now,  I  will  not  say  endured,  but 
received  into  what  is  called  good  society  ?  Does  the 
moralist  no  longer  dine  behind  a  bookseller's  screen,  that 
he  may  hide  his  dilapidated  shoes  ?  Is  the  author,  in 
these  days  of  light,  no  longer  considered  an  equivocal 
something  between  a  pickpocket  and  a  magician  ?  Is 
the  poet  only  a  "  little  lower "  in  the  household  of  the 
great  than  the  under-butler  ?  In  a  word,  is  it  possible, 
in  the  present  state  of  the  world,  that  a  man  can  write 
an  epic,  a  play,  a  novel,  a  lyric,  and  at  the  same  time  be 
considered  a  gentleman  ?  It  is  so  !  History,  biography, 
satire  cease  to  be  cups  and  balls  ;  poetry  is  no  longer 
hocus  focus  ! 

THE    MONET-LENDER. 

He  moves  stealthily  as  an  ague  :  as  though  haunted 
by  the  memory  of  a  thousand  acts  that  have  written  him 
down  in  the  private  memoranda  of  Lucifer.  Had  he 
lived  in  Spain,  he  would  have  made  an  excellent  familiar 
of  the  Inquisition ;  he  would  with  demoniacal  compla- 
cency have  applied  the  thumbscrew,  the  burning  pincers, 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  69 

and  the  molten  lead.  Born  in  England,  bred  an  attor- 
ney, and  adding  to  his  professional  cares  the  anxieties  of 
money-lender,  he  is  yet  enabled  to  satisfy  his  natural  and 
acquired  lust  of  evil,  and  he  therefore  gets  up  costs.  He 
has  never  stood  at  the  bar  of  a  police  office,  and  yet  his 
hands  are  dyed  with  the  blood  of  broken  hearts. 

REWARDS    OF   AUTHORS. 

However  great  the  rewards  and  honours  heaped  upon 
the  English  author,  fhey  are  as  nothing  to  the  wealth  and 
distinction  promised  him  by  the  philosophic  legislator. 
The  calamity  now  to  be  feared  is,  that  in  a  few  years 
authors  will  become  too  powerful  and  too  rich — will  be 
absolutely  placed  upon  a  level  with  tradesmen  and  mer- 
chants, and,  like  them,  have  the  delightful  privilege  of 
disposing  of  their  possessions  at  their  death.  As  for  the 
honours  in  store  for  literature,  it  may  be  safely  predicted 
that  in  no  less  than  half  a  century  or  so,  attaches,  or  even 
small  consuls,  may  be  selected  from  English  writers. 
Already  two  distinguished  men  have  been  promised  the 
next  vacancies  as  messengers. 

PICTURES    OF    FEMALE    LOVELINESS. 

There  cannot  be  a  more  gratifying  evidence  of  the 
present  passion  for  art  in  this  country,  of  the  ingenuity 
of  its  professors,  and  the  liberality  of  its  patrons,  than 
the  continued  supply  of  female  loveliness.  No  slave- 
market  could  ever  boast  such  a  stock  of  "  beauties,"  such 
a  string  of  attractive  creatures,  dressed  or  half-dressed  at 
the  sweet  will  and  sweeter  taste  of  the  painter.  And 
then  they  attach  a  simple  man  with  such  invincible 
names,  and  under  such  touching  types,  it  is  impossible  to 
be  safe  from  them. 


70  JEEEOLD'S  WIT. 

QUEER    PARTNERS. 

Jerrold,  at  a  party,  noticed  a  doctor,  in  solemn  black, 
waltzing  with  a  young  lady,  who  was  dressed  in  a  silk  of 
brilliant  blue.  Jerrold. — "  As  I  live  !  there's  a  blue  pill 
dancing  with  a  black  draught !  " 

THE    SHIRT    OF    NESSUS. 

The  shirt  of  Nessus  was  a  shirt  not  paid  for. 

A    MAN    OF   BURDEN. 

An  author  may  be  likened  to  an  elephant,  seeing  that 
he  frequently  has  to  carry  a  house  upon  his  back  filled 
with  a  numerous  family. 

THE    FASHIONABLE    TRADESMAN. 

He  is  not  to  be  taken  by  shabby  appearance.  He  is  a 
fish  that  bites  only  at  the  finest  flies.  It  is,  therefore, 
highly  essential  that  the  would-be  debtor  should  appear 
before  him  bearing  all  the  external  advantages  of  Mam- 
mon. 

AN    USHER'S    DUTIES    AND    REWARD. 

Twenty  boys  are  handed  over  to  his  keeping.  Hence 
he  is  expected  to  see  them  all  safe  in  bed ;  to  have  an 
eye  upon  them  whilst  dressing  and  washing ;  to  take  his 
meals  with  them ;  to  never  leave  the  school-room ;  and 
above  all,  when  the  young  gentlemen  recreate  themselves 
in  the  play-ground,  or  take  a  walk,  or  go  to  church,  he 
is  to  accompany  them,  giving  his  most  vigilant  attention, 
his  every  thought,  to  their  doings,  and,  indeed,  at  all 
times  and  in  every  respect  studying  the  interest  of  his 
employer  as  if  it  were  doubly  his  own.     For  he  must 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  71 

remember  that  the  salary  is  twenty  pounds  per  annum  ! 
There  are  positively  many  footmen  who  do  not  get  so 
much. 

"lions"  of  a  season. 

This,  our  glorious  metropolis,  is  a  vast  cemetery  for 
"  lions."  They  are  whelped  every  season  ;  and,  frail 
and  evanescent  as  buttercups,  they  every  season  die. 

DUELLING. 

If  men  must  fight,  let  them  fight  by  deputy.  Let  us 
leave  what  is  called  "gentlemanly  satisfaction"  to  be 
worked  out  for  us  by  the  lower  animals.  Your  very 
high  folks  might  settle  their  disputes  with  a  couple  of 
lions  ;  whilst  the  vulgar  might  have  their  quarrels  satis- 
factorily worked  out  by  cocks  and  terriers.  Indeed, 
how  many  a  feud,  that  was  tragically  ended  with  a  bullet, 
might  have  been  settled  by  a  maggot-race  ! 

A    GENTLE    CRITIC. 

He  would  finish  a  new  tragedy,  comedy,  and  farce  in 
less  time  than  a  Cyclops  would  head  and  point  a  pin. 
When,  however,  he  intends  to  be  very  severe,  he  never 
mercilessly  uses  a  club,  but  endeavours  quickly  to  punch 
a  mortal  hole  in  his  subject  with  a  blunt  epigram. 

"WORLDLY   HONOUR. 

There  never  was  so  miserable  a  mountebank  as  what 
is  called  Worldly  Honour.  It  is  this  quack-salver  that 
talks  of  washing  wrongs  out  with  blood,  in  the  same 
way  that  a  jack-pudding  at  a  fair  needs  powder  of  pool 
to  take  out  every  household  blot  and  stain.     Both  these 


72  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

creatures  are  impostors — with  this  difference,  that  one  is 
a  zany  with  a  death's-head. 

THE    REAL    AND    THE    COUNTERFEIT. 

Such  is  the  ardour  of  men  in  this  incomparable  Lon- 
don to  acknowledge  and  reward  merit,  that  even  an 
imitation  of  talent  shall  often  carry  away  the  price  of 
the  true  thing :  hence  it  now  and  then  happens  to  genius 
as  to  spoons,  the  plated  article  takes  the  place  of  the 
real  metal. 

ADVICE    TO    MARRIED    LADIES. 

Cultivate  your  nerves.  You  can't  pet  them  too  much. 
Something  will  always  be  happening  in  the  house,  and 
unless  your  husband  be  worse  than  a  stone,  every  new 
fright  will  be  as  good  as  a  new  gown  or  a  new  trinket  to 
you.  There  are  some  domestic  wounds  only  to  be  healed 
by  the  jeweller. 

THE    LEGITIMATE    DRAMA    DEFINED    BY    A    MANAGER. 

I  have  ransacked  the  whole  globe  for  attraction  ;  I 
may  say  it,  I  have  gone,  as  it  were,  into  Noah's  ark  for 
actors.  I  have  executed  what  meaner  men  would  die 
blushing  to  think  of — and  the  result  of  my  experience, 
after  much  thinking,  is  this,  that  that  drama  is  to  all 
intents  and  purposes  the  most  legitimate — that  brings 
the  most  money. 

LOVE    OF   THE    SEA. 

Love  the  sea  ?     I  dote  upon  it — from  the  beach. 

THE    BIGOTRY    OF    VIRTUE. 

Virtue  makes  victims  by  her  very  bigotry. 


JEEEOLD'S  WIT.  73 

THE    KEASON    WHY. 

One  evening  at  the  Museum  Club  a  member  very 
ostentatiously  said,  in  a  loud  voice,  "  Isn't  it  strange,  we 
had  no  fish  at  the  Marquis's  last  night  ?  That  has  hap- 
pened twice  lately.     I  can't  account  for  it." 

"  Nor  I,"  replied  Jerrold,  "  unless  they  ate  it  all  up- 
stairs." 

SHARP    TO    THE    SHARP. 

As  a  man  is  known  by  his  associates,  so  we  think  may 
the  character  of  the  creditor  be  known  by  his  attorney : 
the  sharp  employ  the  sharp. 

OBSCURITY. 

You  cannot  but  observe  how  thousands  are  doomed  to 
a  plodding  obscurity  ;  how  thousands  pass  from  birth  to 
death  with  no  one  action  of  their  lives  to  signalize  them- 
selves among  their  fellows :  how,  like  corn,  they  grow, 
ripen,  and  are  cut  down,  leaving  behind  them  no  mark 
of  their  past  existence. 

RED    TAPE    AND    ITS    VICTIMS. 

The  bowstring  is  unknown  in  free  and  happy  Eng- 
land ;  but  be  sure  of  it,  innocent  reader,  red  tape  has 
its  daily  victims. 

ADVICE    TO    A    YOUNG    AUTHOR. 

Nothing  so  beneficial  to  a  young  author  as  the  advice 
of  a  man  whose  judgment  stands  constitutionally  at  the 
freezing-point. 

HAPPY    ENGLAND. 

A  tax  in  England  ?     We  haven't  the  word  in  our  Ian- 


74  JEREOLD'S  WIT. 

guage.  There  are  two  or  three  duties,  to  be  sure  ;  but 
then,  with  us,  duties  are  pleasures.  As  for  taxes,  you'd 
make  an  Englishman  stare  only  to  mention  such  things. 

DIGNITY    INSULTED    ON    THE    STAGE. 

There  is  a  drama  which  contains,  I  think,  a  piece  of 
mischief  that  has  escaped  the  unsuspecting  licenser :  a 
mayor  is  put  in  bodily  fear  by  a  conjurer,  who  declares 
that  he  can,  "  by  his  so  potent  art,"  transform  a  high 
civic  authority  into  an  ape  !  Mayors  ought  to  look  to 
this. 

PAYING    BY    THE    CLOCK. 

"  You  have  charged  me  for  a  full-priced  breakfast," 
said  a  complaining  guest,  looking  at  his  bill ;  "  and  all  I 
had  was  a  cup  of  milk  and  a  chip  of  toast !  " 

"  You  might  have  had  coffee  and  eggs  for  the  same 
money,"  replied  the  waiter. 

"Ah ! "  cried  the  guest,  "  then  it  seems  you  charge 
according  to  the  clock  :  and  if  a  man  was  to  have  only 
eggs  at  dinner-time,  I  suppose  he'd  have  to  pay  for  full- 
grown  turkeys." 

THE    LAUREL. 

An  accursed  plant  of  fire  and  blood.  Count  up  all  the 
crowns  of  Caesar,  and  for  the  honest  healthful  service  of 
man,  are  they  worth  one  summer  cabbage  ? 

THE    MISER'S    MONEY-BAG. 

A  monster — all  throat !  Could  its  owner  have  put 
the  sun  itself  within  this  bag,  the  wrorld  for  him  had 
been  in  darkness — perpetual  night  had  cast  a  pall  upon 
creation — the  fruits  of  earth  had  withered  in  the  bud, 
and  want  and   misery  been  universal ;    whilst  he,   the 


JEEROLD-S  WIT.  75 

thrifty  villain  !    snugly  lived   in   bloom,  and   in   his  very 
baseness  found  felicity ! 

GLOVE-STEALING    FROM    LIONS. 

Let  a  "  lion  "  of  a  party  only  unglove  himself,  and  the 
women — we  have  seen  them  do  it — steal  the  kids.  The 
pretty  enthusiasts  will  have  a  relic  of  the  wonderful 
creature,  and  thus  commit  a  theft,  which  even  the  suf- 
ferer must,  as  we  have  observed,  allow  to  be  very  com- 
plimentary. How  courageous  are  women  when  they 
really  admire !  To  seize  a  piece  of  kid  from  the  very 
paws  of  a  "  lion !  " 

THE    WINGS    OF   TlilE. 

The  wings  of  Time  are  no  other  than  two  large  bill- 
stamps,  duly  drawn  and  accepted.  With  these  he  brings 
his  three,  six,  or  nine  months  into  as  many  weeks.  He 
is  continually  wasting  the  sand  from  his  glass,  drying  the 
wet  ink  of  promissory  notes. 

WORK    AND    PAT. 

In  this  world  it  isn't  him  as  breaks  the  horse  as  is 
always  doomed  to  win  the  plate. 

THE    WORLD'S    OPINION. 

Who  and  what  is  this  grim  despot  ?  Who  is  this  ex- 
ecrable tyrant — this  mixture  of  the  mountebank  and 
man-eater  ?  We  are  pieces  of  him — little  pieces,  par- 
ticles, if  you  will — of  this  same  quack-salver  and  canni- 
bal, christened  and  known  as  the  World's  Opinion. 

Caliban's  looking-glass. 
A  remarkably  ugly  and  disagreeable  man  sat  opposite 


76  JEEROLU'S  WIT. 

Jerrold  at  a  dinner-party.  Before  the  cloth  was  removed, 
Jerrold  accidentally  broke  a  glass.  Whereupon  the 
ugly  gentleman,  thinking  to  twit  his  opposite  neighbour 
with  great  effect,  said  slily,  "  What  already,  Jerrold  ! 
Now,  I  never  break  a  glass." — "  I  wonder  at  that,"  was 
Jerrold's  instant  reply,  "you  ought  whenever  you  look 
in  one." 

THE    FACILITIES    OF    CREDIT. 

How  many  young  gentlemen,  with  nothing  but  their 
wits — poor  destitute  fellows  ! — have  been  forced  into 
debt  by  the  cordial  manner,  the  gracious  words  of  the 
man  determined  to  be  a  creditor  ! 

THE    MIND    OF    CHILDHOOD. 

Is  not  the  mind  of  childhood  the  tenderest,  holiest 
thing  this  side  heaven  ?  Is  it  not  to  be  approached  with 
gentleness,  with  love, — yes,  with  a  heart-worship  of  the 
great  God  from  whom,  in  almost  angel-innocence,  it  has 
proceeded  ?  A  creature  undefiled  by  the  taint  of  the 
world — unvexed  by  its  injustice — unwearied  by  its  hol- 
low pleasures.  A  being  fresh  from  the  source  of  light, 
with  something  of  its  universal  lustre  in  it  ?  If  child- 
hood be  this,  how  holy  the  duty  to  see  that,  in  its  on- 
ward growth,  it  shall  be  no  other!  To  stand  as  a 
watcher  at  the  temple,  lest  any  unclean  thing  should 
enter  it. 

A    STAGE    DEVIL. 

In  the  full  glow  of  my  admiration  of  his  diabolic  beau- 
ties, I  have  often  scarcely  suppressed  a  sigh  to  think  how 
great  an  ambassador  has  been  sacrificed  in  a  play-house 
fiend.  Indeed,  nothing  could  be  more  truly  diplomatic 
than  his  supernatural  shifts.     Had  he  acted  in  France  in 


JERBOLD'S   WIT.  77 

the  days  of  Napoleon,  he  had  been  kidnapped  from  the 
stage,  and,  nolens  volens,  made  a  plenipotentiary. 

THE    CHURCH. 

The  Church,  rightly  ministered,  is  the  vestibule  to  an 
immortal  life. 

THE    DUTIES    OF   A    GOVERNESS. 

She  has  within  her  trust  the  greatest  treasures  that 
human  life,  with  all  its  pride,  can  know  :  the  hearts,  and, 
indeed,  the  future  souls  of  children.  As  her  mission  is  a 
noble  one,  respect  and  courtesy  are  hers  by  right.  To 
look  upon  her  as  a  better-dressed  drudge  is,  in  very  truth, 
hot  poorest  insolence  alone,  but  darkest  error. 

LITERARY   MEN. 

With  certain  excellent  and  patriotic  persons,  literature, 
like  a  gipsy,  to  be  picturesque,  should  be  a  little  ragged. 

AN    UNACKNOWLEDGED    UTILITY. 

There  appears  to  be  a  tacit  compact  in  society  to  affect 
an  ignorance  of  the  very  existence  of  the  pawnbroker. 
His  merits  are  never  canvassed — no  man  has,  or  ever 
had,  a  personal  knowledge  of  him.  Men  are  prone  to 
vaunt  the  rectitude,  the  talents  of  their  tradesmen — "  My 
wine-merchant,"  "  My  bootmaker,"  even  "  My  attorney ; " 
but  who  ever  yet  startled  the  delicacy  of  a  company  with 
"  My  pawnbroker  ?  " 

THE    PAWNBROKER. 

He  is  a  sort  of  King  Midas  in  a  squalid  neighbourhood  ; 
he  is  a  potentate  sought  by  the  poor,  who  bear  with 
his  jests,  his  insolence,  his  brutality;  who  in  tatters  bow 


78  JERROLD'S    WIT. 

down  to  him  ;  and  with  want  in  all  their  limbs,  with  empty- 
bellies  and  despairing  hearts,  make  court  to  him,  that  he 
will  be  pleased  to  let  them  eat.  Terrible  things  have 
been  written  on  dungeon  walls  ;  terrible  sickening  evi- 
dences of  human  misery  and  human  vice  ;  but  if  on  the 
partitions  of  these  boxes  could  be  written  the  emotions 
of  those  who  have  waited  near  them,  the  writing  would 
be  no  less  fearful  than  that  traced  in  the  Bastile — graven 
in  the  Piombi. 

THE    CAUSE    OF    FREEDOM. 

When  men  join  for  freedom,  the  cause  itself  does  con- 
secrate the  act.  To  fall  from  it,  or  half-way  halt  in  it,  is 
treason  to  the  dignity  of  human  nature — is  perjury  to  the 
first  truth  of  man. 

A  DISHONEST    SERVANT. 

A  lady  once  took  a  servant  with  the  finest  character 
for  honesty,  and  only  a  week  afterwards  detected  her 
giving  three  cold  potatoes  to  a  little  hurdy-gurdy  for- 
eigner with  white  mice  ! 

THE    CREED    OF    HONESTY. 

It  is  the  creed  of  honesty  always  to  hope  goodness. 

THE    PRINTER'S    DEVIL. 

His  looks  are  the  looks  of  merriment:  yet  the  pockets 
of  his  corduroy  trousers  may  be  charged  with  thunder- 
bolts. He  would  not  hurt  a  mouse,  and  in  his  jacket 
slumbers  lightning  to  destroy  a  ministry.  Perhaps  for 
the  whole  Mint  he  could  not  compass  a  sum  in  addition  ; 
and  yet  it  rests  with  his  integrity  whether  to-morrow 
morning  the  nation  shall  be  saved  from  bankruptcy ;  for, 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  79 

deposited  in  his  cap  is  an  elaborate  essay  addressed  to  the 
ingenious  trailers  in  the  money-market ;  an  essay  that 
shall  transform  beggared  England  into  El  Dorado. 

NOVEL    FATHERS. 

Fathers  in  novels  are  generally  dragons  in  white  wigs. 

a  lady's  idea  of  a  servant. 
She  conceived  that  a  servant  ought  to  be  a  sort  of  nun, 
and  from  the  moment  she  enters  your  house  should  take 
leave  of  all  the  world  beside.  Has  she  not  her  kitchen 
for  willing  hands  always  to  do  something  ?  And  then  for 
company,  doesn't  she  see  the  butcher,  the  baker,  the  dust- 
man— to  say  nothing  of  the  sweeps  ? 

AN    EMPTY    HEAD. 

Of  a  light,  frivolous,  flighty  girl,  whom  Jerrold  met 
frequently,  he  said,  "  That  girl  has  no  more  head  than  a 
periwinkle." 

POOR    AND    CONTENT. 

My  son,  if  poor,  see  wine  in  the  running  spring ;  let 
thy  mouth  water  at  a  last  week's  roll ;  think  a  threadbare 
coat  the  "  only  wear ;  "  and  acknowledge  a  whitewashed 
garret  fittest  housing-place  for  a  gentleman.  Do  this  and 
flee  debt.  So  shall  thy  heart  be  at  peace,  and  the  sheriff 
be  confounded. 

CATARRH. 

"  That  cat  has  got  a  cold,"  said  a  friend  to  Jerrold, 
pointing  to  a  domestic  favourite.  "  Yes,"  Jerrold  replied, 
"  the  poor  thing  is  subject  to  cat-arrh." 

POVERTY  RENDERED  PALATABLE. 

Poverty  is  a  bitter  draught,  yet  may,  and  sometimes 


80  JERBOLD'S    WIT. 

with  advantage,  be  gulped  down.  Though  the  drinker 
make  wry  faces,  there  may,  after  all,  be  a  wholesome 
goodness  in  the  cup. 

A    SANITARY    AIR. 

The  air  of  France !  nothing  to  the  air  of  England. 
That  goes  ten  times  as  far — it  must,  for  it's  ten  times  as 
thick. 

A    KITCHEN-MAID    ON    DRESS. 

I  don't  insist  on  ringlets  in  the  house,  but  when  I  go 
out,  I'm  my  own  mistress.  I've  given  up  two  places  for 
my  bird-of-paradise  feather — it  looks  quite  alive  in  my 
white  chip  ! — and  would  give  up  twenty.  After  slaving 
among  pots  and  pans  for  a  month,  it  is  so  sweet  to  be 
sometimes  taken  for  a  lady  on  one's  Sunday  out. 

HEARTLESS    MISTRESSES. 

They  think  poor  servants  have  no  more  flesh  and  blood 
than  a  porridge-skillet.  They  can  have  their  comfortable 
courtings  in  their  parlours  and  drawing-rooms,  and  then, 
with  their  very  toes  at  the  fire,  they  can  abuse  a  poor 
servant  for  only  whispering  a  bit  of  love,  all  among  the 
snow,  perhaps  in  the  area. 

ORDERS. 

We  are  bigoted  to  orders.  Men,  like  watches,  must 
work  the  better  upon  jewels.  Man  is,  at  the  best,  a 
puppet,  and  is  only  put  into  dignified  motion  when  pulled 
by  Blue  or  Red  Ribands. 

ABUSE    OF    THE    WORLD. 

When  I  hear  a  man  cry  out,  "  It's  a  bad  world,"  I 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  81 

must  of  course  lump  him  with  the  aggregate  iniquity;  for 
how  can  he  have  the  enormous  vanity  to  select  himself  as 
the  one  pure  Adam  from  naughty  millions  ?  No,  be  it 
my  faith  to  think  the  best  of  the  world. 

HONOUR    AND    DESERT. 

Desert  may  pant  and  moan  without  honour ;  but  in  the 
court  of  kings,  where  justice  weighs  with  nicest  balance, 
honour  never  with  its  smiles  mocks  imbecility,  or  gilds 
with  outward  lustre  a  concealed  rottenness.  Honour 
never  gives  alms,  but  awards  justice. 

LIES. 

Lies  are  a  sort  of  wooden  pegs  that  keep  the  world 
together  as  if  it  were  a  box ;  nice  little  things,  so  let  into 
the  work  a^  never  to  be  seen.  Take  out  the  pegs,  and 
how  would  the  box  tumble  to  pieces ! 

THE    LAWYER'S    GOWN. 

The  masquerading  dress  of  common  sense.  There  is 
a  living  instinct  in  its  web :  let  golden  villainy  come 
under  it,  and  with  a  thought  it  flows  and  spreads,  and 
gives  an  ample  shelter  to  the  thing  it  covers ;  let  poor 
knavery  seek  it,  and  it  shrinks  and  curtains  up,  and 
leaves  the  trembling  victim  naked  to  the  court. 

A    FAVOURITE    AIR. 

At  a  social  club  to  which  Jerrold  belonged,  the  subject 
turned  one  evening  upon  music.  The  discussion  was 
animated,  and  a  certain  song  was  cited  as  an  exquisite 
composition.  "  That  song,"  exclaimed  an  enthusiastic 
member,  "  always  carries  me  away  when  I  hear  it." 


32  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

Jerrold  (looking  eagerly  round  the  table). — "  Can  any- 
body whistle  it  ?  " 

THE    ILLS    OF    DEBT. 

Of  what  a  hideous  progeny  of  ill  is  debt  the  father ! 
What  lies,  what  meanness,  what  invasions  on  self-respect, 
what  cares,  what  double  dealing !  How  in  due  season  it 
will  carve  the  frank,  open  face  into  wrinkles ;  how  like  a 
knife,  it  will  stab  the  honest  heart ! 

DRESS. 

The  present  age  judges  of  the  condition  of  men  as  we 
judge  of  the  condition  of  cats — by  the  sleekness,  the  gloss 
of  their  coats.  Hence,  in  even  what  is  called  a  respecta- 
ble walk  of  life,  with  men  of  shallow  pockets  and  deep 
principles,  it  is  of  the  first  importance  to  their  success, 
that  if  they  would  obtain  three  hundred  per  annum, 
they  must  at  least  look  as  if  they  were  in  the  receipt  of 
seven. 

THE    DEVIL'S    PORTRAIT    PAINTING. 

He  was  tolerably  good  looking ;  and  now  is  his  coun- 
tenance but  as  a  tavern  sign,  where  numerous  little  imps, 
liberated  by  drawn  corks,  continue  to  give  a  daily  touch 
and  touch  of  red — proud  of  their  work,  as  portrait  paint- 
ers to  the  devil  himself. 

A    SHOPKEEPER'S    IDEA   OF   TRUTH. 

Truth  is  very  well  in  a  story,  or  in  a  sampler,  or  in 
any  matter  of  that  sort ;  but  the  downright,  naked,  plain 
truth  behind  a  counter — pooh  !  I  should  like  to  know 
how,  by  such  means,  we  are  to  pay  rent  and  taxes. 


JEEROLD'S  WIT.  83 

THE   SWORD. 

Ceremony  sanctifies  it.  Some  kingly  words  are  spoken 
i — a  trumpet  is  blown ;  and  straightway  the  sword  be- 
comes ennobled ! 

THE    DEGENERACY    OF    THE    TIMES. 

There  is  now  nothing  picturesque  in  life.  "We  have 
caught  the  wild  Indian,  deprived  him  of  his  beads,  his 
feathers,  and  his  cloak  of  skins  ;  we  have  put  him  into  a 
Quaker's  suit  without  buttons — and  behold,  the  once 
mighty  chief  is  fallen  into  Mr.  Respectable  man !  We 
have  now  no  character  at  all :  it  may  seem  a  paradox — 
but  our  respectability  has  destroyed  it. 

BETTER    THAN    NONE. 

A  friend — let  us  say  Barlow — was  describing  to  Jer- 
rold  the  story  of  his  courtship  and  marriage.  How  his 
wife  had  been  brought  up  in  a  convent,  and  was  on  the 
point  of  taking  the  veil,  when  his  presence  burst  upon 
her  enraptured  sight.  Jerrold  listened  to  the  end  of  the 
story,  and  by  way  of  comment  said,  "  Ah  !  she  evidently 
thought  Barlow  better  than  nun." 

JUSTICE    A    LUXURY. 

To  make  justice  cheap  would  doubtless  make  her  con- 
temptible ;  she  is  therefore  dignified  by  expense — made 
glorious  by  the  greatness  of  costs. 

THE    INDUSTRIOUS    CITIZEN. 

In  his  business  hours  the  cockney  is  worthy  of  the 
attention  of  any  reflecting  cart-horse.  He  is  the  genius 
of  labour ;  the  willing  serf  to  those  worse  than  Egyptian 
task-masters,  £.  s.  d. 


34  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

MELLOW   HEARTS. 

There  are  hearts  all  the  better  for  keeping ;  they  be- 
come mellower,  and  more  worth  a  woman's  acceptance 
than  the  crude  unripe  things  too  frequently  gathered — 
as  children  gather  green  fruit — to  the  discomfort  of  those 
who  obtain  them. 

A    MONEY-GRUBBER. 

His  very  soul  seems  absorbed  in  the  consideration  of 
the  coin  of  the  realm ;  his  mind  hath  no  greater  range 
than  that  of  his  shop ;  and  his  every  thought,  like  every 
omnibus,  runs  to  the  Bank. 

REPUTATION. 

Reputation  is  to  notoriety  what  real  turtle  is  to  mock. 

THE    BED    OF    GLORY. 

What  is  it  ?  A  battle-field,  with  thousands  blasphem- 
ing in  agony  about  you  !  Your  last  moments  sweetened, 
it  may  be,  with  the  thought  that  somewhere  on  the  field 
lies  a  bleeding  piece  of  your  handiwork — a  poor  wretch 
in  the  death-grasp  of  torture.  Truly,  that  is  a  bed  of 
greater  glory  which  is  surrounded  by  loving  hearts — by 
hands  uplifted  in  deep,  yet  cheerful  prayer.  There  are 
thoughts  too — it  is  my  belief — better,  sweeter  far  than 
thoughts  of  recent  slaying,  to  help  the  struggling  soul 
from  out  its  tenement. 

THE    "WAR-FIEND. 

He  is  too  often  busy  among  us — one  of  the  vilest  and 
most  mischievous  demons  of  all  the  brood  of  wickedness. 
To  be  sure  he  visits  men  not  in  his  own  name,  oh,  no ! 


JEREOLD'S  WIT.  85 

he  comes  to  them  in  the  finest  clothes  and  under  the 
prettiest  alias.  He  is  clothed  in  gay  colours — has  yards 
of  gold  trimming  about  him — a  fine  feather  in  his  cap — 
silken  flags  fluttering  over  him — music  at  his  heels — and 
his  lying,  swindling  name  is — Glory. 

ITALIAN    BOYS. 

I  never  see  an  Italian  image-merchant  with  his  Graces 
and  Venuses  and  Apollos  at  sixpence  a  head,  that  I  do 
not  spiritually  touch  my  hat  to  him.  It  is  he  who  has 
carried  refinement  into  the  poor  man's  house ;  it  is  he 
who  has  accustomed  the  eyes  of  the  multitude  to  the  har- 
monious forms  of  beauty. 

THE    BOTTLE. 

The  bottle  is  the  devil's  crucible,  and  melts  all. 

a  tailor's  lament. 
Every  day  of  his  life  a  duke  passes  my  door  to  parlia- 
ment, in  a  pepper-and-salt,  linsey-woolsey,  duffle,  flannel 
sort  of  thing,  that  his  tailor,  try  as  hard  as  he  may,  can't 
charge  him  more  than  two  pounds  for.  And  in  this  con- 
dition his  grace  goes  to  make  laws  in  parliament !  After 
this  I  should  like  to  know  how  it's  to  be  hoped  that  com- 
mon folks  are  to  respect  the  House  of  Lords  ?  It's  fly- 
ing in  the  face  of  nature  to  expect  it. 

THAT    BEAUTIFUL  DOG. 

A  lady  passing  a  dog  that  was  following  at  Jerrold's 
heels,  exclaimed,  "  What  a  beautiful  dog  !  " 

"  Ay,  madam,"  said  Jerrold,  turning  sharply  round, 
"  he  looks  very  beautiful  now  ;  but  he  ate  two  babies  yes- 
terday." 


86  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

CIVILIZED    CANNIBALS. 

How  universal,  how  guileless  is  the  man  who  never 
dreams  that  there  are  cannibals  in  London !  Why, 
society  is  beset  by  anthropophagi.  One  cannot  walk  the 
streets  without  rubbing  coats  with  man-eaters — cannibals 
duly  entered — consumers  of  human  flesh  and  blood  ac- 
cording to  the  statutes. 

STATE    SALARIES. 

You  would  think  senators  were  of  the  same  conse- 
quence as  singers,  for  they  positively  demand  nearly  as 
high  salaries ! 

A   BINDING   PROMISE. 

He  kissed  her,  and  promised.  Such  beautiful  lips ! 
Man's  usual  fate — he  was  lost  upon  the  coral  reefs. 

THE    REGION    OF    LAW. 

It  is  not  a  region  of  fairies,  to  be  searched  for  golden 
fruits  and  amaranthine  flowers  ;  nor  is  it  a  deep,  gloomy 
mine,  to  be  dug  and  dug  with  the  safety  lamp  of  patience 
lighting  us  through  many  a  winding  passage — a  lamp 
which,  do  what  we  will,  so  frequently  goes  out,  leaving 
us  in  darkness. 

NATIONAL    PREJUDICES. 

A  man  who  hated  national  prejudices  invited  an  uncle 
to  a  French  restaurant,  to  "  dine  'em  out "  of  him.  After 
dinner  he  said  to  him,  "What  do  you  think  of  the 
French,  now,  uncle  ;  " — "  Not  so  bad,"  he  replied,  with  a 
look  of  contrition,  "  not  so  bad,  if  they  wouldn't  eat 
frogs."     "  You  recollect  the  third  dish — delicious,  wasn't 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  37 

it  ?  "  The  old  fellow  smacked  his  lips,  with  recollections 
of  delight.  "  In  that  dish  there  were  two-and-thirty 
frogs."  The  uncle  insisted  upon  falling  ill  immediately  ; 
was  carried  home,  went  to  bed,  scratched  his  nephew  out 
of  his  will,  and  died.  Would  it  be  believed — a  nurse 
was  found  to  swear  that  in  his  last  moments  she  heard 
'em  croak  !     See  what  comes  of  national  prejudice. 

THE   FORCE    OF    GENIUS. 

Here  in  this  glorious  city,  in  this  magnificent  abiding- 
place  of  mighty  men,  genius  cannot  be  hidden.  Though 
in  its  sensitive  modesty  it  take  refuge  in  a  garret,  a  thou- 
sand benevolent  spirits  compel  it  to  appear  in  the  light 
of  common  day,  and  rejoice  in  its  deservings. 

ROUGE. 

Rouge  is  a  darling  little  fib  that  sometimes  lies  like 
truth. 

NEW   ZEALANDERS. 

Very  economical  people  ;  we  only  kill  our  enemies — 
they  eat  'em.  TTe  hate  our  foes  to  the  last ;  whilst 
there's  no  learning  in  the  end  how  Zealanders  are  brought 
to  relish  'em. 

AN    ACADEMICAL    "  VENUS." 

A  lady,  who  had  ordered  a  Venus  to  be  painted  for 
her,  on  hearing  that  the  goddess  was  the  wife  of  Vulcan, 
insisted  upon  her  having  a  wedding-ring.  The  poor  artist 
was  in  agony  lest  the  goddess  should  be  refused  admit- 
tance at  the  Academy,  in  consequence  of  what  he  pro- 
fani'ly  called  a  ridiculous  superfluity — a  wedding-ring,  as 
he  avowed,  taking  the  subject  entirely  out  of  keeping. 


88 


JERROLD' S  WIT. 


AUTHORS    AND    PUBLISHERS. 

Publishers  look  upon  authors  simply  as  a  butcher  looks 
upon  Southdown  mutton,  with  merely  an  eye  to  the  num- 
ber of  pounds  to  be  got  out  of  them. 

A    DIFFICULT    QUESTION. 

Jerrold  met  a  fop  one  day,  who  languidly  offered  him 
two  fingers.  Jerrold,  not  to  be  outdone,  thrust  forward 
a  single  finger,  saying — "  Well,  who  shall  it  be  ?  " 

DEBTORS   BY   NATURE. 

There  are  some  to  whom  debt  seems  their  natural 
element;  they  appear  to  swim  only  in  hot  water.  To 
owe  and  to  live  are  to  them  terms  synonymous  ;  the 
ledger  is  their  libro  d'oro  ;  the  call  of  the  sheriff  no  more 
than  the  call  of  a  friend. 

A    WONDERFUL    THEATRE. 

You  have  seen  a  whole  service  of  plate  shaken  from  a 
single  cherry-stone.     In  like  manner  you  have  at  the 

theatre  all  the  tenants  of  Noah's  ark,  the  pyramids, 

the  entire  of  the  Alps,  two  or  three  earthquakes,  and 
every  drop  of  the  Bay  of  Biscay — each  or  all,  as  it  may 
please  the  astounding  manager — placed  at  one  time  before 
you. 

THE    BEST    BEDFELLOW. 

The  sweetest  bedfellow  is — conscience,  conscience. 
Ha !  it's  a  charming  thing  to  feel  her  at  our  heart — to 
hear  her  evening  song  and  morning  song ! 

MARRIAGE    FALLACIES. 

What  is  enough  for  one,  it  has  been  said,  is  enough  for- 


JERROLD'S  WIT  89 

two.  But  this  is  the  ignorance  of  Cupid,  who  never  could 
learn  figures.  Now,  Hymen  is  a  better  arithmetician, 
taught  as  he  is  by  butcher  and  baker.  Love  in  a  cottage 
is  pretty  enough  for  boys  and  girls  ;  but  men  and  women 
like  a  larger  mansion,  with  coach-house  and  stabling. 

RESPECTABILITY. 

Turn  where   we  will  we  see  the  evil  of  what  is  called 

"  respectability  ; "   we   hate  the  very  word,   as   Falstaflf 

hated   lime.     It   has    carried  its  whitewash   into  every 

corner  of  the  land — it  has  made  weak  and  insipid  the 

wine  of  life. 

woman's  tears. 

"What  women  would  do  if  they  could  not  cry,  nobody 
knows.  They  are  treated  badly  enough  as  it  is,  but  if 
they  could  not  cry  when  they  liked,  how  they  would  be 
put  upon — what  poor,  defenceless  creatures  they  would 
be! 

Nature  has  been  very  kind  to  them.  Next  to  the 
rhinoceros,  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  armed  like  a 
woman.     And  she  knows  it. 

THE    COMFORT    OF    UGLINESS. 

We  cannot  say — and  in  truth  it  is  a  ticklish  question  to 
ask  of  those  who  are  best  qualified  to  give  an  answer — 
if  there  really  be  not  a  comfort  in  substantial  ugliness  ; 
in  ugliness  that,  unchanged,  will  last  a  man  his  life  ;  a 
good  granite  face  in  which  there  shall  be  no  wear  and 
tear.  A  man  so  appointed  is  saved  many  alarms,  many 
spasms  of  pride.  Time  cannot  wound  his  vanity  through 
his  features  ;  he  eats,  drinks,  and  is  merry,  in  despite  of 
mirrors.  No  acquaintance  starts  at  sudden  alteration — 
hinting,  in  such  surprise,  decay  and  the  final  tomb.     He 


90  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

grows  older  with  no  former  intimates — churchyard  voices 
— crying,  "  How  you're  altered  ! "  How  many  a  man 
might  have  been  a  truer  husband,  a  better  father,  firmer 
friend,  more  valuable  citizen,  had  he,  when  arrived  at 
legal  maturity,  cut  off — say,  an  inch  of  his  nose ! 

"the  eyes  of  the  world." 

Lady  Montpelier  is  trembling  on  the  brink  of 
forty.  Every  day  that  agreeable  truth-teller,  her  look- 
ing-glass, speaks  of  fading  lilies  and  roses.  How  can 
her  ladyship  meet  the  Eyes  of  the  World,  if  not  as  fair 
and  blushing  as  when  she  first  came  out  ?  Lady  Mont- 
pelier makes  to  herself  a  new  face  from  the  cosmetics 
of  the  perfumer :  she  "  paints  inch  thick,"  but  purely 
out  of  respect  for — the  Eyes  of  the  World ! 

Pretty  Lydia  Melrose  !  She  had  a  nice  little 
figure  ;  straight  as  a  hazel-twig :  but — for  the  Eyes  of 
the  World — Lydia  did  not  think  herself  slender  enough. 
Hence  she  was  laced  and  laced,  and  built  about  with 
steel  sufficient  to  forge  into  a  cuirass.  She,  moreover, 
eschewed  the  grossness  of  meat  diet,  and  lived  upon 
lemons,  oranges,  almonds,  and  raisins,  and  such  acid  fight 
fare,  and  all  this,  that  she  might  appear  an  inch  less  in 
the  waist  in — the  Eyes  of  the  World ! 

Jack  Splashly  was  left  five  thousand  pounds.  In 
an  evil  hour  he  became  acquainted  with  young  Lord 
Fusball,  who  had  not  as  many  farthings.  Jack  played 
and  played,  and  dressed  and  dressed,  his  money  running 
was tef ully  from  his  purse  like  sand  from  a  broken  sand- 
glass. "  My  dear  Jack,"  said  an  old  acquaintance,  "  I'm 
sure  you  can't  afford  to  ride  a  horse  like  that — no,  nor  to 
wear  diamond  studs  ;  nor  to " 

"  My  dear  fellow,"   answered  Jack,    "  I  quite  agree 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  91 

with  what  you  say ;  but  what  am  I  to  do  ?  Were  I  to 
do  otherwise,  how  the  devil  should  I  appear  in — the  Eyes 
of  the  World  ?  " 

We  have  only  taken  three  instances ;  we  might  deal  in 
three  thousand,  illustrative  of  the  foolish  sacrifices  daily 
made  to  the  Eyes  of  the  World ;  which,  after  all,  watch- 
ful and  intelligent  as  we  deem  them,  are,  nine  times  out 
of  ten,  as  insensible  of  the  offerings  we  make  to  them  as 
are  the  stone  and  wooden  idols  of  the  heathen.  The 
truth  is,  the  Eyes  of  the  World  have  other  employment 
than  to  look  on  us  and  our  doings  ;  and  even  when  they 
do  condescend  to  give  a  single  glance  at  us,  the  chances 
are  that  they  either  laugh  in  ridicule,  or  leer  in  contempt. 
Often  when  we  think  we  have  made  them  stare  again 
with  admiration,  they  only  stare  in  pity  and  disgust. 

A    HARD    FATE. 

You  will  hear  a  good  lowly  creature  sing  the  praises 
of  pure  water — call  it  the  wine  of  Adam  when  he  walked 
in  Paradise — when,  somehow,  fate  has  bestowed  upon 
the  eulogist  the  finest  Burgundy.  He  declares  himself 
contented  with  a  crust — although  a  beneficent  fairy  has 
hung  a  fat  haunch  or  two  in  his  larder. 

Now  is  it  not  delightful  to  see  these  humble  folk,  who 
tune  their  tongues  to  the  honour  of  dry  bread  and  water, 
compelled,  by  the  gentle  force  of  fortune,  to  chew  venison 
and  swallow  claret  ? 

A    LITTLE    TASTE    OF    THE    JAIL. 

If  a  man  taste  ever  so  little,  he's  poisoned  for  life. 

A   VERY   VILLAIN. 

He'd  rob  a  captain  of  all  that  makes  his  commission 


92  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

worth  a  farthing — the  profit  and  glory  of  other  people's 
work. 

NO   ACCOUNTING   FOR   TASTE. 

It  was  never  meant  to  be  accounted  for,  I  suppose ; 
else  there's  a  lot  of  us  would  have  a  good  deal  to  answer 
about.  Taste,  in  some  things,  I  suppose,  was  given  to  us 
to  do  what  we  like  with ;  but  now  and  then  we  do  cer- 
tainly ill-use  the  privilege. 

THE    BRITISH    CONSTITUTION. 

The  British  constitution  is  like  an  eel ;  you  may  flay 
it,  and  chop  it  to  bits ;  yet  for  all  that,  the  pieces  will 
twist  and  wriggle  again.  It  is  elastic — peculiarly  elastic. 
That  is  why  it  gets  mauled  about  so  much.  Just  as  boys 
don't  mind  what  tricks  they  play  upon  cats — because, 
poor  devils,  somebody  to  spite  them  has  said  they've  got 
nine  lives. 

TO    A    LADY    ON    BREAKING    HER    WATCH. 

It  is  the  privilege  of  beauty  to  kill  time. 

A    QUICK    DRESSER. 

The  highest  and  most  valuable  of  all  the  female  vir- 
tues, a  virtue  that  Eve  herself  was  certainly  not  born 
with,  is  to  be  a  quick  dresser. 

LIES. 

Lord  bless  you  !  if  you  was  to  take  away  all  the  lies 
that  go  to  make  bread  in  this  town,  you'd  bring  a  good 
many  peck  loaves  down  to  crumbs. 

HOW    TO    MANAGE    WOMEN. 

Never  own  a  woman  is  right ;  do  it  once,  and  on  the 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  93 

very  conceit  of  it,  she'll  be  always  wrong  for  the  rest  of 
her  life. 

SWEET    MAGICIAN,   LOVE. 

Mighty  benevolence,  Cupid,  that  takes  away  stains  and 
blots — that  gives  the  line  of  beauty  to  zig-zag,  upturned 
noses — that  smiles,  a  god  of  enchantment,  in  all  eyes 
however  green,  blinking,  or  stone-like — that  gives  a 
pouting  prettiness  even  to  a  hare-lip,  bending  it  like 
Love's  own  bow !  Great  juggler,  Cupid,  that  from  his 
wings  shakes  precious  dust  in  mortal  eyes,  and  lo !  they 
see  nor  blight,  nor  deformity,  nor  stain — or  see  them 
turned  to  ornament ;  even,  as  it  is  said,  the  pearl  of  an 
oyster  is  only  so  much  oyster  disease. 

Plutus  has  been  called  a  grand  decorator.  He  can 
but  gild  ugliness,  passing  off  the  thing  for  its  brightness. 
But  Love — Love  can  give  to  it  the  shape,  and  paint  it 
with  tints,  of  his  own  mother.  Plutus  may,  after  all, 
be  only  a  maker  of  human  pocket-pieces.  He  washes 
deformity  with  bright  metal,  and  so  puts  it  off  upon  the 
near-sighted ;  now  Love  is  an  alchemist,  and  will,  at  least 
to  the  eyes  and  ears  of  some  one,  turn  the  coarsest  lump 
of  clay  to  one  piece  of  human  gold. 

THE    SLIPPERY   PATH    OF    LIFE. 

How  few  there  are  who,  starting  in  youth,  animated 
by  great  motives,  do  not  at  thirty  seem  to  have  suffered 
a  "  second  fall !  "  What  angel  purposes  did  they  woo — 
and  what  hag-realities  have  they  married !  What 
Rachels  have  they  thought  to  serve  for — and  what  Leahs 
has  the  morning  dawned  upon  ! 

A   WIFE    AT    FORTY. 

"  My  notion  of  a  wife  at  forty,"  said  Jerrold,  "  is,  that 


94  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

a  man  should  be  able  to  change  her,  like  a  bank-note,  for 
two  twenties." 

PHILOSOPHY    IN    RAGS. 

There  is  to  our  mind  more  matter  for  sweet  and  bitter 
melancholy  hi  the  flaunting  tawdry  of  a  zany,  than  in  the 
embroidered  suit  of  a  fine  gentleman — more  stuff"  preg- 
nant with  curious  and  touching  contrast  in  the  fantastic 
rags  of  your  true  vagabond,  than  in  the  sleek  garments 
of  the  man  of  all  proprieties. 

IT    MIGHT    HAVE    BEEN    WORSE. 

"  Would  you  believe  it  ?  "  said  Jones  to  Smith,  "  "Web- 
ster has  engaged  Charles  Kean  for  only  twelve  nights  ?  " 

"For  only  twelve  nights  ?  "  said  Smith. 

"  For  only  twelve  nights  !  "  repeated  Jones. 

"  Thank  God  !  "  ejaculated  Smith,  with  a  look  of  great 
thanksgiving-,  "It  might  have  been  worse  !" 

A   PHILOSOPHIC    VISIONARY. 

He  spent  all  his  inheritance  in  preaching  against  the 
outward  vanities  of  life — the  paintings  and  the  trappings, 
and  the  false,  fleeting  finery  of  sophistication.  He  brought 
himself  to  rags;  but,  in  a  lucky  hour,  hit  upon  an  expe- 
dient that  in  some  way  restored  him  ;  for  it  was  he  who 
originated  the  custom  of  gilding  gingerbread. 

TEMPERANCE    SPOUTERS. 

They  are  like  bull-frogs  in  a  pond.  They  only  muddy 
where  they  stir  ;  and  their  monotonous  croak  is  of  water. 

A    POSTURE-MASTER. 

His  principal  feat  was  the  snake  trick  ;  for  he  would 


JEEROLD'S  WIT.  95 

cast  himself  upon  the  earth,  and  move  along  it  in  undu- 
lations as  quickly  and  as  lightly  as  the  living  reptile.  "We 
once  knew  a  minister  to  throw  him  a  guinea,  in  pure  ad- 
miration of  this  peculiar  motion.  Whenever  his  other 
tricks  failed,  he  began  to  creep,  and  success  was  certain. 

NO    CAUSE   NO    EFFECT. 

A  rumour  had  been  very  general  that  a  certain  hard 
lugubrious  actor  was  labouring  under  an  inflammation  of 
the  brain.  A  friend  having  mentioned  the  report  to  Jer- 
rold,  was  reassured  in  the  following  words  :  "  Depend 
upon  it  there  is  not  the  least  foundation  for  the  report." 

A    RESPECTABLE    MAN. 

Mr.  Chokepear  is,  to  the  finger-nails,  a  respectable  man. 
The  tax-gatnerer  was  never  known  to  call  at  his  door  a 
second  time  for  the  same  rate  ;  he  takes  the  sacrament 
two  or  three  times  a  year,  and  has  in  his  cellar  the  old- 
est port  in  the  parish.  He  has  more  than  once  subscribed 
to  the  fund  for  the  conversion  of  the  Jews ;  and,  as  a 
proof  of  his  devotion  to  the  interests  of  the  Established 
Church,  it  was  he  who  started  the  subscription  to  present 
the  excellent  Doctor  Mannamouth  with  a  virgin  silver 
teapot,  cream-jug,  and  spoons.  He  did  this,  as  he  has 
often  proudly  declared,  to  show  to  the  infidel  world  that 
there  were  some  men  in  the  parish  who  were  true  Chris- 
tians. He  has  acquired  a  profound  respect  for  the  bench, 
since  an  alderman's  judgment  upon  "the  starving  villains 
who  would  fly  in  the  face  of  their  Maker ; "  and,  having 
a  very  comfortable  balance  at  his  bankers',  considers 
their  despair  very  weak,  very  foolish,  and  very  sinful. 
He,  however,  blesses  himself  that  for  such  miscreants 
there  is  Newgate ; — and  more,  there  are  aldermen  on  the 
bench. 


96  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

OUR    ENGLISH    LOVE    OF    DINNERS. 

"  If  an  earthquake  were  to  engulf  England  to-morrow," 
said  Jerrold,  "  the  English  would  manage  to  meet  and 
dine  somewhere  among  the  rubbish,  just  to  celebrate  the 
event." 

CHURCH    BELLS. 

There  is  something  beautiful  in  the  church  bells — 
beautiful  and  hopeful ;  they  talk  to  high  and  low,  rich 
and  poor  in  the  same  voice  ;  there  is  a  sound  in  them  that 
should  scare  pride,  and  envy,  and  meanness  of  all  sorts 
from  the  heart  of  man ;  that  should  make  the  earth  itself 
seem  to  him,  at  least  for  a  time,  a  holy  place.  There 
is  a  preacher  in  every  belfry,  that  cries,  "  Poor,  weary, 
struggling,  fighting  creatures — poor  human  things  !  take 
rest,  be  quiet.  Forget  your  vanities,  your  follies,  your 
week-day  craft,  your  heart-burnings  !  And  you,  ye  human 
vessels,  gilt  and  painted,  believe  the  h'on  tongue  that  tells 
ye  ye  are  of  the  same  Adam's  earth  with  the  beggar  at 
your  gates.  "  Come  away,  come  !  "  cries  the  church-bell, 
"  and  learn  to  be  humble — learning  that,  however  daubed 
and  stained,  and  stuck  about  with  jewels,  you  are  but 
grave  clay.  Come,  Dives,  come  and  be  taught  that  all 
your  glory,  as  you  wear  it,  is  not  half  so  beautiful  in  the 
eye  of  Heaven  as  the  sores  of  uncomplaining  Lazarus  ! 
And  ye,  poor  creatures,  livid  and  faint — stinted  and 
crushed  by  the  pride  and  hardness  of  the  world — come, 
come,"  cries  the  bell,  with  the  voice  of  an  angel,  "  come 
and  learn  what  is  laid  up  for  ye  ! — and  learning,  take 
heart,  and  walk  among  the  wickedness,  the  cruelties  of 
the  world,  calmly  as  Daniel  walked  among  the  lions." 


JEEROLD'S  WIT.  97 

CHURCH. 

How  many  go  there  with  no  thought  whatsoever,  only 
that  it  is  Sunday — church-going  clay  ?  And  so  they  put 
on  what  they  think  religion  that  day,  just  as  I  put  on  a 
clean  shirt.  Bless  you,  sometimes  I've  stood  and  watched 
the  crowd,  and  I've  said  to  myself,  "  Weil,  I  should  like 
to  know  how  many  of  you  will  remember  you're  Chris- 
tians till  next  week  ! '; 

When  we  see  what  some  people  do  all  the  week — 
people  who  are  staunch  at  church,  remember — I  can't 
help  thinking  there  are  a  good  many  poor  souls  who  are 
only  Christians  at  morning  and  afternoon  service. 

"WINTER. 

It  was  winter  in  its  most  savage  mood.  The  tops  of 
the  forest  trees  were  heaped  with  snow,  the  earth  was 
hard  as  granite,  and  the  wind  howled  like  a  wounded 
monster  through  the  wood. 

THE    HUMANE    SOCIETY   AT    AN    EVENING    PARTY. 

At  an  evening  party,  a  very  elderly  lady  was  dancing 
with  a  young  partner.  A  stranger  approached  Jerrold, 
who  was  looking  on,  and  said — 

"  Pray,  sir,  can  you  tell  me  who  is  the  young  gentle- 
man dancing  with  that  very  elderly  lady  ?  " 

"  One  of  the  Humane  Society,  I  should  think,"  replied 
Jerrold. 

A  gentleman's  library. 
It  is  not  so  necessary  to  read  a  library  :  the  great  mat- 
ter is  to  get  it.     With  a  good  many  folks,  heaps  of  books 


98  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

are  nothing  more  than  heaps  of  acquaintance  that  they 
promise  themselves  to  look  in  upon  some  day. 

EPITAPHS. 

If  the  devil  ever  takes  churchyard  walks,  how  he  must 
chuckle  and  rub  his  brimstone  hands  when  he  reads  some 
of  the  tombstones — eh  ?  How  he  must  hold  his  sides  at 
the  "  loving  husbands,"  "  aflfectionate  fathers,"  "  faithful 
friends,"  and  "  pious  Christians,"  that  he  sees  advertised 
there  !     For  he  knows  better — he  knows  better. 

A  man's  coat. 
Whatever  coat  a  man  wears,  never  see  a  hole  in  it. 
Though  it  may  be  full  of  holes  as  a  net,  never  see  them ; 
but  take  your  hat  off  to  the  coat  as  if  it  was  the  best  bit 
of  broadcloth  in  the  world,  without  a  flaw  or  a  thread 
dropt,  and  with  the  finest  bits  of  gold  lace  on  it. 

a  lawyer's  smile. 
Dirt  cheap  at  six  and  eightpence. 

feature-mongers. 
Physiognomists  and  heralds  are  in  certain  cases  equally 
courteous;  first  prove  yourself  a  great  man,  and  the 
feature-mongers  will  instantly  award  you  eyes  and  mouth 
to  match — become  rich,  and  though  you  cannot  swear  to 
your  own  name,  you  shall  have  as  great  a  choice  of  arms 
as  Briareus. 

AN   ERROR    CORRECTED. 

Jerrold  was  seriously  disappointed  with  a  certain  book 
written  by  one  of  his  friends.  This  friend  heard  that 
Jerrold  had  expressed  his  disappointment. 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  99 

Friend  (to  Jerrold). — I  hear  you  said was  the 

worst  book  I  ever  wrote. 

Jerrold. — No,  I  didn't.  I  said  it  was  the  worst  book 
anybody  ever  wrote. 

SPITTOONS    FOR    TWO. 

At  a  club,  of  which  Jerrold  was  a  member,  a  fierce 
Jacobite  and  a  friend,  as  fierce,  of  the  cause  of  William 
the  Third,  were  arguing  noisily,  and  disturbing  less  exci- 
table conversationalists.  At  length  the  Jacobite,  a  brawny 
Scot,  brought  his  fist  down  heavily  upon  the  table,  and 
roared  at  his  adversary : — 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  sir,  I  spit  upon  your  King  Wil- 
liam ! " 

The  friend  of  the  Prince  of  Orange  was  not  to  be  out- 
mastered  by  mere  lungs.  He  rose,  and  roared  back  to 
the  Jacobite : — 

"  And  I,  sir,  spit  upon  your  James  the  Second  ! ' 

Jerrold,  who  had  been  listening  to  the  uproar  in  silence, 
hereupon  rung  the  bell,  and  shouted  : — 

"  Waiter  !  spittoons  for  two  !  " 

THE    POLITICS    OF    THE    HEART. 

There  is  not  a  babe  lying  in  the  public  street  on  its 
mother's  lap — the  unconscious  mendicant,  to  ripen  into 
the  criminal — that  is  not  a  reproach  to  the  state  ;  a  scan- 
dal and  a  crying  shame  upon  men  who  study  all  politics 
Bave  the  politics  of  the  human  heart. 

EGOTISM. 

An  eccentric  party,  of  which  Jerrold  was  one,  agreed 
to  have  a  supper  of  sheep's  heads.  One  gentleman  pres- 
ent was  particularly  enthusiastic  on  the  excellence  of  the 


IQQ  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

dish  ;  and,  as  he  threw  down  his  knife  and  fork,  exclaimed, 
"  Well,  sheep's  heads  for  ever,  say  I !  " 
Jerrold. — "  There's  egotism  !  " 

AN   ARISTOCRACY    OF   RAGS. 

There  is  an  aristocracy  of  rags,  as  there  is  an  aristoc- 
racy of  stars  and  garters. 

A    GOOD    HUSBAND. 

As  regular  at  his  fire-side  as  the  tea-kettle. 

OUT    OF   BANCO. 

"When  Macbeth  was  played,  many  years  ago,  at  the 
Coburg  Theatre,  a  certain  actor  was  cast,  to  his  great  dis- 
gust, for  Macduff.  He  told  his  bitter  disappointment  to 
Jerrold,  who  thus  consoled  him  : — 

"  Never  mind,  my  good  fellow,  there's  one  advantage 
in  playing  Macduff — it  keeps  you  out  of  Banquo." 

THE    FACE    OF   NATURE. 

We  know  the  common  story  runs  that  Nature  has  pecu- 
liar visages  for  poets,  philosophers,  statesmen,  warriors, 
and  so  forth  ;  we  do  not  believe  it,  we  have  seen  a  slack- 
wire  dancer  with  the  face  of  a  great,  pious  bard — an 
usurer  with  the  legendary  features  of  a  Socrates — a  passer 
of  bad  money  very  like  a  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer — 
and  a  carcass  butcher  at  Whitechapel  so  resembling  Na- 
poleon that  Prince  Talleyrand,  suddenly  beholding  him, 
burst  into  tears  at  the  similitude. 

AN    EGLINTON   JESTER. 

MTan,  the  artist,  figured  as  one  of  the  jesters  at  the 
celebrated  Eglinton  tournament.     He  was  mounted  upon 


JERROLD'S    WIT.  101 

an  ass.  Jerrold  called  him  an  "  ass  centaur  ;  "  and  said, 
that  it  was  impossible  to  discover  where  one  animal  began 
and  the  other  ended. 

GOOD    AND    EVIL. 

Virtue  reads  prettily  upon  a  tombstone,  but  'tis  a  losing 
quality  with  bare  walls  and  a  quenched  hearth.  Virtue, 
honesty,  benevolence — what  are  they  ?  The  counters 
with  which  the  wise  men  of  the  world  gull  its  fools  and 
slaves. 

PURE    FOLKS. 

Very  pure  folks  won't  be  held  up  to  the  light  and  shown 
to  be  very  dirty  bottles,  without  paying  back  hard  abuse 
for  the  impertinence. 

SPEAKING    YOUR    MIND. 

It  is  an  extravagance  that  has  ruined  many  a  man. 

A    SCOLDING    WIFE. 

A  Judge  Jefferys  in  his  wig  is  an  abominable  tyrant ; 
yet  may  his  victims  sometimes  smile  to  think  what  Judge 
Jefferys  suffers  in  his  night-cap. 

MARRIAGE. 

In  marriage,  as  in  war,  it  is  permitted  to  take  every 
advantage  of  the  enemy. 

THE    WEDDING    RING. 

Alack  !  like  the  ring  of  Saturn,  for  good  or  evil  it  cir- 
cles a  whole  world. 

TOBACCO. 

How  little  does  a  woman  think,  when  she  marries,  that 
she  gives  herself  up  to  be  poisoned ! 


102  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

NO     SOLITUDE. 

The  earth  has  no  place  of  solitude.  Not  a  rood  of  the 
wilderness  that  is  not  thronged  and  eloquent  with  crowds 
and  voices  communing  with  the  spirit  of  man,  endowed 
by  such  communion  with  a  knowledge  whose  double  fruit 
is  divinest  hope  and  meekest  humanity. 

GRUMBLERS. 

There  are  folks  who  would  take  their  smallest  wrongs 
with  them  into  Paradise.  Go  where  they  will  they  carry 
with  them  a  travelling-case  of  injuries. 

MANUFACTURED    OUTCASTS. 

We  make  them  outcasts,  wretches ;  and  then  punish, 
in  their  wickedness,  our  own  selfishness,  our  own  neglect. 
We  cry,  "  God  help  the  babes,"  and  hang  the  men. 

AFTER  TEN  TEARS  OF  MARRIAGE. 

He  is  a  fool  who  throws  pearls  to  pigs  and  thinks  the 
pork  will  eat  the  richer  for  the  treasure.  He  is  no  less  a 
fool  who  showers  diamonds  upon  his  wife  when,  knowing 
no  better,  paste  will  make  her  just  as  grateful. 

PATIENT    SUFFERING. 

There  is  a  sanctity  in  suffering,  when  strongly,  meekly 
borne.  Our  duty,  though  set  about  by  thorns,  may  still 
be  made  a  staff,  supporting  even  while  it  tortures.  Cast 
it  away,  and,  like  the  prophet's  wand,  it  changes  to  a 
snake. 

FAULT-FINDERS. 

To  discover  the  spots  in  the  sun,  is  to  some  men 


JERKOLD'S   WIT.  103 

greater  than  the  discovery  of  the  laws  that  govern  the 
sun  itself. 


A    SCOLDING    WIFE. 

Like  the  owl,  she  hoots  only  at  night.  From  eleven 
at  night  until  seven  in  the  morning  there  is  no  retreat  for 
him — he  must  he  and  listen.  Minerva's  bird,  the  very 
wisest  thing  in  feathers,  is  silent  all  the  day. 

WIT. 

Wit,  like  money,  bears  an  extra  value  when  rung  down 
immediately  it  is  wanted.  Men  pay  severely  who  require 
cx*edit. 

BACCHUS. 

If  Bacchus  often  leads  men  into  quagmires  deep  as  his 
vats,  let  us  yet  do  him  this  justice — he  sometimes  leads 
them  out.  Ask  your  opponent  to  take  another  glass  of 
wine. 

HONESTY. 

Honesty  without  sharpness  in  this  world  is  like  a  sword 
without  edge  or  point — very  well  for  show,  but  of  no  real 
use  to  the  owner. 

THE    POWER    OF    CASH. 

Money,  in  this  marketing  world  of  ours,  may  buy 
much  ;  but,  nighty  and  frivolous  and  butterfly-like  as 
the  thing  sometimes  is,  it  can't  always  buy  a  woman's 
heart.  However,  this  it  can  purchase  ;  it  can  buy  a  cage 
to  put  the  poor  thing  in ;  it  can  buy  eyes  to  watch  her 
— hands  to  guard  her ;  and  so  the  pet-lamb  may  be  kept 
safe  from  London  wolves — safe  as  parchments  in  a  strong 
box. 


104  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

MAGNA    CHARTA. 

An  evidence  of  the  value  of  fine  fiction  upon  a  people. 
Because  it  ought  to  be  true,  they  think  it  is. 

A    TAVERN    KING. 

A  man  who  lives  and  moves  only  in  a  spittoon :  a  man 
who  has  a  pipe  in  his  mouth  as  constantly  as  his  front 
teeth. 

HEREDITARY    VIRTUES. 

Virtue,  like  vice,  does  not  always  descend  in  a  right 
line,  but  often  goes  in  zig-zag.  It  can't  be  willed  away 
like  the  family  spoons. 

A    REFRESHING    CRT. 

There  is  nothing  so  refreshing  as  a  good  cry,  when  you 
know,  after  all,  there  is  nothing  to  cry  about.  Tears 
were  given  us  to  enjoy  ourselves  with.  They  wash  out 
the  mind  like  a  dirty  teacup,  and  give  a  polish  to  the 
feelings. 


&■ 


A    MODEL    POLICEMAN. 

Medusa  staring  at  him  would  have  had  the  woi-st  of 
it,  and  bashfully,  hopelessly,  let  drop  her  eyelids.  You 
might  as  well  have  frowned  at  Newgate  stones,  expecting 
to  see  them  tumble,  as  think  to  move  one  nerve. 

A    CHOICE    OF   RUIN. 

To  be  ruined  your  own  way  is  some  comfort.  When 
so  many  people  would  ruin  us,  it  is  a  triumph  over  the 
villainy  of  the  world  to  be  ruined  after  one's  own  pat- 
tern. 


JEREOLD'S   WIT.  105 

THE    CHARM    OF    CHANGE. 

What  change  of  climate  often  is  to  a  sick  man,  change 
of  public-house  is  to  a  drunken  one.  He  feels  the  stronger 
for  the  removal,  and,  therefore — drinks  again. 

BLOW    HOT BLOW    COLD. 

The  wind  came,  sharp  as  Shylock's  knife,  from  the 
Minories — it  was  called  the  east  wind — cutting  the  shoul- 
der-blades of  old  men  of  forty ;  but  the  boys,  in  their  ro- 
bust jollity — to  whom  the  tax-gatherer  was  as  yet  a  rarer 
animal  than  baby-hippopotamus — had  the  redder  faces 
and  nimbler  blood  for  it. 

GOING    TO    TAVERNS. 

Lady  {loquitur). — "  What  men,  unless  they  have  their 
wives  with  them,  can  find  to  talk  about,  I  can't  think — no 
good,  of  course." 

HOW   TO   ABOLISH    CRIME. 

If  we  were  to  hang  for  everything,  there  would  be  an 
end  of  crime  altogether. 


'o^ 


u  GOOD    NIGHT." 

This  is  a  simple,  earnest  wish,  that,  like  the  circle  of 
the  universe,  holds  within  it  all  things. 

PERENNIAL    COURTSHIP. 

There  cannot  be  a  woman  ever  so  old,  that,  when  she 
smells  a  sweetheart  somewhere,  does  not  snigger  and 
grin  as  if  her  own  courting-days  were  come  again. 

IDEAS. 

There  are  some  ideas  that  seem,  like  rain-drops,  to  fall 


106  JERKOLD'S   WIT. 

upon  a  man's  head ;  the  head  itself  having  nothing  to  do 
with  the  matter. 


A    CONFESSION    OF    IGNORANCE. 

On  the  first  night  of  Sir  E.  Lytton's  "  Sea  Captain," 
when  the  hero  came  to  that  part  of  his  role  where  he 
exclaims,  "  The  sea — my  mother  sea,"  Jerrold,  who  was 
present,  said,  "I  have  heard  of  Mother  H.,  but  never  be- 
fore of  Mother  C." 

A    SCOLDING-    WIFE    AT    THE    SEA-SIDE. 

Happily  (says  the  husband,  alluding  to  a  conjugal  lec- 
ture he  had  received)  the  wind  got  suddenly  up — the 
waves  bellowed — and,  soothed  by  the  sweet  lullaby,  I 
somehow  sank  to  repose. 

A    COMMAND    REVERSED. 

"And  God  said,  Let  us  make  man  in  our  image." 
What  a  fine  creature  is  man,  so  long  as  he  always  has 
these  words  before  his  eyes,  and  so  tries  to  do  nothing  but 
what  shall  be  some  way  worthy  of  his  likeness !  To  do 
this  is  to  make  the  world  a  pleasant  place,  and  to  have 
every  body  happy  about  us.  "  And  God  said,  Let  us  make 
man  in  our  image  !  "  This  is  beautiful :  but  it  is  sad — 
it  is  melancholy  work,  when  man  says,  "  Let  us  make 
God  in  our  image." 


o 


"  ONCE    UPON    A    TIME." 

How  oft  the  old,  old  words,  like  silver  bells,  have  rung 
us  to  a  brief  holiday — summoned  the  gravest  of  us  to  the 
hearth,  to  take  from  the  lips  of  fable  sweetest  truth ! 

SELF-PUNISHMENT. 

Never,  so  long  as  you  have  a  stitch  about  your  anatomy, 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  107 

believe  yourself  alone.  If  thoughtless  people  could  only- 
know  what  their  left-off  clothes  say  about  them,  sure  I 
am  they  would  resolve  upon  one  of  two  things — either  to 
reform  their  lives,  or  to  go  naked.  Let  no  man  harbour 
a  black  spot  in  his  breast,  and  believe  that  his  waistcoat 
is  wholly  ignorant  of  the  stain.  Let  no  man  drop  an  ill- 
gotten  guinea  into  his  pocket,  and  think  the  pocket  uncon- 
scious of  the  wrong.  His  very  glove  shall  babble  of  the 
bribe  that  has  burnt  his  hand ;  his  cravat  shall  tighten 
about  his  throat,  if  that  throat  be  seared  with  daily  lies. 
Ignorance  of  man  !  to  believe  that  what  is  borne  upon 
the  body  has  no  intelligence  with  the  moral  good  or  evil 
dwelling  in  the  soul. 

BUT BUT. 

"When  the  affairs  of  Italy  were  the  subject  of  general 
conversation  in  England,  Jerrold  was  very  enthusiastic  in 
favour  of  Mazzini  and  his  party.  He  was  talking  hope- 
fully and  warmly  on  the  subject  one  evening  at  a  party, 
when  a  very  cold  and  stiff  and  argumentative  gentleman 
was  present.  This  iced  man  interrupted  Jerrold  at  every 
turn  with  a  doubting  "but."  At  last,  Jerrold,  fairly 
roused  by  the  coolness  of  his  opponent,  turned  sharply 
upon  him,  and  said,  "  Sir,  I'll  thank  you  to  throw  no 
more  of  your  cold  water  '  buts '  at  me." 

GOOD    IX    EVERT    THING. 

There  may  be  some  Eden-like  spots  even  in  a  coal- 
mine. 

MARRIAGE    A    LA    MODE. 

Look  at  the  bride,  her  colour  comes  and  goes,  and  her 
Up  shakes  like  a  rose-leaf  in  the  wind ;  tears  blind  her 


108  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

eyes  ;  and  as  she  steps  from  the  carriage,  the  earth  whirls 
about  her.  Is  that  the  church-door  ?  Surely  it  is  the 
entrance  of  a  tomb.  She  fights  with  closed  lips — mutely 
fights  against  her  swelling  heart.  She  raises  her  eyes — 
she  sees  her  father's  stony  face  glittering  with  a  smile,  a 
statue  in  the  sun — beholds  her  mother's  simper,  her 
weight  of  great  content ;  she  turns — more  horrible  than 
all— and  catches  then  the  look  of  him,  in  some  brief 
minutes  to  be  made  her  owner  ;  he  smiles,  and  her  heart 
dies  at  his  Pan-like  leer !     They  are  married ! 

SLAVE-DEALING    IN    HIGH    LIFE. 

I  have  heard  something  of  the  slave-markets  of  Cairo, 
of  Alexandria;  tales  of  snow-skinned  Georgians  and 
Circassians — of  fairest  victims  vended  by  avarice  to  lust. 
The  tales  were  touching — very,  very  touching.  But 
hearing  them,  I  have  smiled  at  the  wilful  ignorance,  the 
snug  self-complacency  of  Britons — I  have  smiled  and 
remembered  me  of  the  slave-markets  of  St.  James's  !  I 
have  seen  blue  eyes,  pink  cheeks,  scarlet  lips,  sold — aye, 
as  you  would  sell  a  nosegay — fathers  and  mothers  having 
a  bishop  who  shall  bless  the  bargain.  There  is  this 
difference  between  the  Georgian  and  the  British  mer- 
chandise— a  small  circle  of  gold-wire  about  it — no  more. 

A    COURT    BEAUTY. 

She  had  some  vague  notion  that  there  were  human 
creatures ;  a  white  race,  something  higher  in  the  scheme 
of  the  world  than  the  mere  Hottentot ;  but  it  was  also 
part  of  her  creed  that,  like  horses  and  oxen,  they  were 
sent  for  no  other  purpose  to  this  earth,  save  for  that  of 
ministering  in  any  manner  to  the  will  and  wish  of  her- 
self, her  friends,  and  her  immediate  acquaintance.     The 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  109 

world,  the  habitable  world,  to  her  was  composed  of  about 
an  area  of  two  miles,  with  St.  James's  Palace  for  the 
centre.  Any  part  beyond  that  boundary  was  to  her  mys- 
terious as  the  Great  Mogul's  country :  she  looked  upon  it 
with  the  intelligence  that  possessed  the  theological  oppo- 
nents of  Columbus,  when  he  talked  of  a  new  continent — 
allowing  it  to  exist,  and  to  be  once  reached,  there  were 
certain  currents  that  rendered  impossible  any  return 
from  it. 

LOW   LIFE   ABOVE    STAIRS. 

The  Adelphi  company  once  removed,  temporarily,  to 
the  Haymarket  Theatre.  Jerrold  was  asked  his  opinion 
on  the  change.  He  replied :  "  The  master  and  mistress 
are  out;  a~i  the  servants  have  got  into  the  drawing- 
room." 

INTELLECT. 

Nonsense !  a  new-fangled  thing,  just  come  up,  and  the 
sooner  it  goes  out  the  better. 

man's  account  with  woman. 
Look  here ;  you  must  allow  that  woman  ought,  as  much 
as  in  her  lies,  to  make  this  world  quite  a  paradise,  seeing 
that  she  lost  us  the  original  garden.  We  talk  as  philos- 
ophers, and  when  all  is  said  and  done  about  what  we 
owe  to  woman,  you  must  allow  that  we  have  a  swinging 
balance  against  her.  There's  that  little  matter  of  the 
apple  still  to  be  settled  for. 

LADIES   IN    WAITING. 

Here  are  women — doting  wives  and  loving  mothers — 
quitting  the  serene  and  holy  circle  of  their  own  hearths — 


HO  JERROLD' S  WIT. 

relinquishing  for  an  appointed  terra  the  happiness  and 
tenderness  of  home,  to  endure  a  glorifying  servitude 
beneath  the  golden  yoke  of  ceremony. 

LIKE    LEAD. 

To  an  impertinent  fellow,  whom  Jerrold  avoided,  and 
who  attempted  to  intrude  himself  by  saying  a  bright 
thing,  Jerrold  said,  sharply  turning  upon  the  intruder, 
"  You're  like  lead,  sir,  bright  only  when  you're  cut." 

A    HARD    TRUTH. 

How  few  let  their  passions,  their  resentments,  die  be- 
fore them !  How  few  see  their  vices  coffined,  ere  they 
fall  themselves ! 

THE    WORLD    TO    COME. 

Alas  !  what  a  place  would  this  be,  if  the  many-coloured 
creeds  of  this  world  did  not,  by  Almighty  goodness,  make 
the  white  light  of  the  world  to  come. 

THE    OSTRICH    NO    GLUTTON. 

The  ostrich  ought  to  be  taken  as  the  one  emblem  of 
temperance.  He  lives  and  flourishes  in  the  desert ;  his 
choicest  food  a  bitter  spiky  shrub,  with  a  few  stones — for 
how  rarely  can  he  find  iron — how  few  the  white  days  in 
which  the  poor  ostrich  can,  in  Arabia  Petraea,  have  the 
luxury  of  a  tenj)enny  nail,  to  season,  as  with  salt,  his 
vegetable  diet.  And  yet  a  common-councilman,  with 
face  purple  as  the  purple  grape,  will  call  the  ostrich — 
glutton. 

THE  "WRECK  AND  THE  JOLLY-BOAT. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  wife  of  poor  Augustus  ?  "  a  gen- 
tleman asked  Jerrold,  referring  to  a  friend. 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  m 

"  No  ;   what's  the  matter  ?  "   said  Jerrold. 
"  Why,  I  can  assure  you,  she's  a  complete  wreck." 
"  Then,  I  suppose,"  replied  Jerrold,  "  he'll  be  the  jolly- 
boat  to  put  off  from  her  ! " 

A  wife's  conjugal  sentiment. 
If  a  woman  would  be  always  cared  for,  she  should 
never  marry.  There's  quite  an  end  of  the  charm  when 
she  goes  to  church.  We're  all  angels  while  you're 
courting  us ;  but,  once  married,  how  soon  you  pull  our 
wings  off! 

FREEDOM. 

Despair  of  freedom,  even  at  the  worst,  is  atheism  to 
the  goddess  Liberty. 

PUBLIC    DINNERS    DEFINED    BY    A    WIFE. 

"  They  get  a  lord  or  a  duke,  if  they  can  catch  him — 
any  thing  to  make  people  say  they've  dined  with  nobility, 
that's  it — yes,  they  get  one  of  these  people,  with  a  star, 
perhaps,  on  his  coat,  to  take  the  chair,  and  to  talk  all 
sorts  of  sugar-plum  things  about  charity,  and  to  make 
foolish  men,  with  wine  in  'em,  feel  that  they've  no  end  of 
money  ;  and  then — shutting  their  eyes  to  their  wives  and 
families  at  home — all  the  while  that  their  own  faces  are 
red  and  flushed  like  poppies,  they  put  their  hand  to  paper, 
and  afterwards  into  their  pockets." 

THE    TRUE    HISTORY    OF   THE    WORLD. 

The  history  of  the  world  is  made  of  battles,  conquests, 
the  accessions  and  the  deaths  of  kings,  the  doings  of 
statesmen,  and  the  tricks  of  law.  This  makes  the  vulvar 
story  of  the  external  world.     Its  deeper  history  is  of  the 


H2  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

hearts,  even  of  its  lowest  dwellers — of  the  ennobling  im- 
pulses that  swell  them — of  the  unconquerable  spirit  of 
meekness  which  looks  calmly  upon  terror,  and  turns  even 
agony  to  patience. 

A   FAIET    SPOT. 

A  small  quiet  nook  of  a  place  nestled  among  trees,  and 
carpeted  with  green  around.  And  there  a  brook  should 
murmur,  with  a  voice  of  out-door  happiness  ;  and  a  little 
garden,  brimming  over  with  flowers,  should  mark  the 
days  and  weeks  and  months  with  bud  and  blossom  ;  and 
the  worst  injuries  of  time  be  fallen  leaves.  And  then, 
health  in  balm  should  come  about  my  path,  and  my  mind 
be  as  a  part  of  every  fragrant  thing  that  shone  and  grew 
around  me. 

A   ROYAL    PRINCE    IN    THE    CRADLE. 

He  sleeps,  and  ceremony,  with  stinted  breath,  waits  at 
the  cradle.  How  glorious  that  young  one's  destinies  ! 
How  moulded  and  marked — expressly  fashioned  for  the 
hio-h  delights  of  earth — the  chosen  one  of  millions  for 
millions'  homage  !  The  terrible  beauty  of  a  crown  shall 
clasp  those  baby  temples ;  that  rose-bud  mouth  shall 
speak  the  iron  law ;  that  little,  pulpy  hand  shall  hold  the 
sceptre  and  the  ball.  But  now,  asleep  in  the  sweet  mys- 
tery of  babyhood — the-  little  brain  already  busy  with  the 
things  that  meet  us  at  the  vestibule  of  life — for  even  then 
we  are  not  alone,  but  surely  have  about  us  the  hum  and 
echo  of  the  coming  world — but  now  thus,  and  now  upon 
a  giddying  tin-one  !  What  grandeur — what  intensity  of 
bliss — what  an  almighty  heritage  to  be  bom  to — to  be 
sent  upon  the  earth,  accompanied  by  invisible  angels,  to 
take  possession  of! 


JERROLD'S    WIT.  H3 

HUMOUR    UNDER    DIFFICULTIES. 

A  critic  one  day  talked  to  Jerrold  about  the  humour  of 
a  celebrated  novelist,  dramatist,  and  poet,  who  was  cer- 
tainly no  humourist. 

"  Humour  !  "  exclaimed  Jerrold,  "  why  he  sweats  at  a 
joke,  like  a  Titan  at  a  thunderbolt ! " 

MATRIMONY  AND  FREEMASONRY. 

"  Man  and  wife  one,  indeed  !  (exclaimed  an  indignant 
lady,  whose  husband  had  just  been  made  a  Mason,)  I 
should  like  to  know  how  that  can  be  when  a  man's  a 
Mason — when  he  keeps  a  secret  that  sets  him  and  his 
wife  apart  ?  Ha !  you  men  make  the  laws,  and  so  you 
take  care  to  have  all  the  best  of  'em  to  yourselves." 

GOOD-NATURE. 

It  seems  to  be  so  easy  to  be  good-natured,  I  wonder 
any  body  takes  the  trouble  to  be  any  thing  else. 

HOMELY    BEAUTY. 

Patty  would  never  have  been  beautiful ;  born  in  down, 
and  fed  upon  the  world's  honey-dew,  she  would  have 
passed  for  nothing  handsome  ;  but  she  had  in  her  coun- 
tenance that  kind  of  plainness  to  my  mind  better  than 
any  beauty  Heaven  has  yet  fashioned.  Her  sweet,  gen- 
tle, thin  face  trembled  with  sensibility  that  sent  its  riches 
to  her  eyes,  glittering  for  a  moment  there  beyond  all  worth 
of  diamonds.  From  earliest  childhood,  she  was  made  to 
read  the  hardest  word- — want,  poverty — in  the  iron  book 
of  daily  life  ;  and  the  early  teaching  had  given  to  her  face 
a  look  of  years  beyond  her  age.  With  her,  daily  misery 
had  anticipated  time. 

8 


114  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

A    HANDSOME    COMPENSATION. 

When  "  Black-Eyed  Susan  "  was  in  rehearsal  at  the 
Surrey  Theatre,  an  important  person — in  his  own  estima- 
tion— strutted  upon  the  stage,  and  speaking  of  Elliston, 
the  Bacchanalian  manager,  exclaimed  in  an  angry  voice, — 
"  How  is  this  ?  I  can  see  a  duke  or  a  prime  minister 
any  time  in  the  morning,  but  I  can  never  see  Mr.  El- 
liston." 

"  There's  one  comfort,"  Jerrold  replied,  "  if  Elliston  is 
invisible  in  the  morning,  he'll  do  the  handsome  thing  any 
afternoon,  by  seeing  you  twice — for  at  that  time  of  day 
he  invariably  sees  double." 

"  what's  tn  a  name  ?  " 
"  I  don't  like  the  name  of  Lazarus  (said  an  anxious 
parent,  discussing  the  usual  topic  preliminary  to  a  christ- 
ening), it's  low,  and  doesn't  sound  genteel — not  at  all 
respectable." 

truth  and  falsehood. 

Truth  is  never  a  babe,  and  never  a  hag.  As  at  the 
first,  so  at  the  last — full  blown,  yet  young ;  her  eyes  lus- 
trous through  ages,  and  her  lip  ruddy  and  fresh  as  with 
the  dews  of  Eden  ;  upon  her  brow  sits  an  eternity  of 
beauty.  Now  Falsehood  is  born  a  puling,  roaring  thing : 
its  very  infancy  is  anticipative  of  its  old  age,  and  stamped 
with  the  grossness  of  mortality.  Day  by  day  it  waxes 
bigger  and  stronger;  has  increase  of  reputation,  crowds 
of  clients  ;  until  at  length  its  unrighteous  hoariness  makes 
it  worshipped  by  multitudes  for  no  other  reason  save  this 
— it  has  gray  hairs.  And  so  the  wrinkled  wizard  keeps 
his  court,  and  works  his  mischief-dealing,  paralyzing  spells, 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  115 

until  Truth,  at  some  time,  turns  her  sapphire  eyes  full 
upon  him,  and  as  a  bubble  at  a  finger's  touch,  Falsehood 
is  gone. 

will-o'-the-wisp  wealth. 

We  harass  our  reason  to  the  utmost  to  arrive  at  wealth 
— and  then,  when  we  think  we  have  built  our  nest  for 
life,  when  we  have  lined  it  with  wool,  and  gilded  the  out- 
side, and  taxed  our  fancy  for  our  best  ease — why,  what 
comes  of  it  ?  Molly,  the  housemaid,  drops  a  lighted  can- 
dle snuff  among  the  shavings — a  cat  carries  a  live  coal 
from  under  the  fire  among  the  linen — the  watchman 
springs  his  rattle,  and,  after  a  considerabley  time,  engines 
play  upon  our  ruin. 

THE    EXPRESSION    OF    A    SKULL. 

Apart  from  association,  the  expression  of  a  bare  skull 
has,  to  ourselves  at  least,  little  in  it  serious :  nay,  there 
has  always  seemed  to  us  a  quaint  cheerfulness  in  it.  The 
cheek-bones  look  still  puckered  with  a  smile,  as  though 
contracted  when  it  flung  aside  the  mask  of  life,  and  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  on-coming  glory. 

IRRESPONSIBLE    BURGLARY. 

There  is  no  Old  Bailey  (at  least  in  this  world)  for  the 
mighty  men  of  the  bully  burglar  Mars. 

JOKE-HATERS. 

The  sex — blessings  on  their  honied  hearts  ! — will  for- 
give wrong,  outrage,  perjury  sworn  ten  times  deep,  any- 
thing against  their  quiet,  but  a  jest.  Break  a  woman's 
heart,  and  she'll  fit  the  pieces  together,  and,  with  a  smile, 
assure  the  penitent  that  no  mischief  is  done — indeed,  and 


HQ  JEEROLD'S  WIT. 

indeed,  she  was  never  better.  Break  a  joke,  light  as 
water-bubble,  upon  her  constancy,  her  magnanimity — 
nay,  upon  her  cookery, — and  take  good  heed ;  she  declares 
war — war  to  the  scissors. 

THE    MAN    OF   BUSINESS. 

A  sort  of  human  lurcher. 

HONOUR   AMONG   THIEVES. 

If  there  be,  as  we  wish  to  believe,  honour  among 
thieves,  sure  we  are  it  is  alloyed  with  envy :  a  man  with 
a  hand  like  a  ham  cannot  complacently  view  the  snaky 
palm  of  a  more  perfect  brother. 

THE    JOKES    OP    JUSTICE. 

Assuredly  there  is  no  place  in  which  the  very  smallest 
joke  goes  so  far  as  in  a  court  of  justice.  There,  a 
farthing's  worth  of  wit  is  often  taken  as  though  it  were 
an  ingot. 

THE    LESSON    OF    THE    GARDEN. 

A  garden  is  a  beautiful  book,  writ  by  the  finger  of 
God  ;  every  flower  and  every  leaf  is  a  letter.  You  have 
only  to  learn  them — and  he  is  a  poor  dunce  that  cannot, 
if  he  will,  do  that — to  learn  them,  and  join  them,  and 
then  to  go  on  leading  and  reading,  and  you  will  find 
yourself  carried  away  from  the  earth  to  the  skies  by  the 
beautiful  story  you  are  going  through.  You  do  not.know 
what  beautiful  thoughts — for  they  are  nothing  short — 
grow  out  of  the  ground,  and  seem  to  talk  to  a  man.  And 
then  there  are  some  flowers,  they  always  seem  to  me  like 
over-dutiful  children :  tend  them  ever  so  little,  and  they 
come  up  and  flourish,  and  show,  as  I  may  say,  their 
bright  and  happy  faces  to  you. 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  117 

ft 

MASKS    AND    FACES. 

Poverty  and  humbleness  of  station  may  sit  upon  the 
middle  benches ;  but  wealth,  and  what  is  mouthed  for 
respectability,  must  have  cribs  apart  for  themselves  ;  must 
be  considered  Christian  jewels  to  be  kept  in  velvet  boxes, 
lest  they  should  catch  the  disease  of  lowliness  by  contact 
with  the  vulgar.  Surely  there  are  other  masquerades 
than  masquerades  in  halls  and  play-houses.  For  are 
there  not  Sabbath  maskings,  with  naked  faces  for  masks  ? 
How  many  a  man  has  himself  rolled  to  church,  as  though, 
like  Elijah,  he  would  go  even  to  heaven  in  a  carriage ! 

- 

ADAM'S    SALAD. 

There  is  no  whet  to  the  appetite  like  early  dew ; 
nothing  for  the  stomach  like  grass  and  wild  flowers,  taken 
with  a  fasting  eye  at  five  in  the  morning.  It  was  Adam's 
own  salad,  and  that  is  why  he  lived  to  nine  hundred  and 
thirty. 

QUARRELS. 

It  seems  to  me  that  this  blessed  world  will  never  want 
something  to  quarrel  about,  so  long  as  there  are  two 
straws  upon  it. 

MODERN    ACTING. 

Jerrold  was  told  that  a  certain  well-known  tragedian 
was  going  to  act  Cardinal  Wolsey. 

Jerrold. — "  Cardinal  "Wolsey ! — Linsey  Woolsey  !  " 

EVIL    THOUGHTS. 

The  fiends  that  lie  in  wait  for  us  need  no  charm  to 
raise   them — no   mystic    wand — no    wizard's    spell ;    the 


118  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

wickedness  of  thought  is  power  sufficient.     How  often  to 
think  evil  is  to  call  a  devil  up  to  act  it ! 

THE  SABBATH  OP  THE  UNIVERSE. 

It  was  a  lovely  day ;  there  seemed  a  Sabbath  peace  on 
all  things.  The  drudged  horse  stood  meek  and  passive  in 
the  fields,  patiently  eyeing  the  passer-by,  as  though  it  felt 
secure  of  one  day's  holiday  ;  the  cows,  with  their  large, 
kind  looks,  lay  unmoved  upon  the  grass ;  all  things 
seemed  taking  rest  beneath  the  brooding  wings  of  heaven. 

We  have  climbed  the  hill — have  gained  the  church- 
yard, the  dust  of  the  living  dust  of  generations.  The  bell 
is  swinging  still,  and,  turning  on  every  side,  from  distant 
hamlets  we  see  men,  women,  and  children — age  with  its 
staff,  and  babyhood  warm  at  the  breast — all  coming  up- 
ward— upward  to  the  church.  Still  they  climb,  and  still 
from  twenty  opposite  paths  they  come  to  strengthen  and 
rejoice  their  souls  in  one  common  centre, — by  bigotry's 
good  leave,  a  fore-shadowing  of  that  tremendous  sabbath 
of  the  universe,  when  all  men  from  all  parts  shall  meet  in 
Paradise. 

THE    TREE    OP    GENEALOGY. 

It  is  with  the  tree  of  genealogy  as  with  the  oak  of  the 
forest ;  we  may  boast  of  the  timbers  it  has  given  to  a 
state  vessel,  but  say  nought  of  the  three-legged  stools,  the 
broomsticks,  and  tobacco-stoppers  made  from  the  ends 
and  chips. 

CERTAIN    REFOR1I. 

To  reform  man  is  a  tedious  and  uncertain  labour : 
hanging  is  the  sure  work  of  a  minute. 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  119 

THE    DEVIL'S    CUNNING. 

The  devil  is  a  better  judge  than  to  carry  away  gold. 
It  will  do  his  work  all  the  better  left  behind. 

A    FORCED    SMILE. 

His  face  galvanized  into  a  smile. 

A    WOMAN'S    EYE. 

That  luminous  concentration,  that  world  of  eloquent 
light — for  how  it  talks  ! — a  woman's  eye. 

THE    WINE-GOD. 

O  wine,  wine  ! — Bacchus,  Bacchus !  How  often  does 
excess  of  wine  prevent  the  spark  that  might  otherwise 
have  cast  its  radiance  far  around !  How  often  has  the 
genius,  drenched  with  grape,  done  nought,  when  working 
hard  to  scintillate,  but  blindly  strike  his  own  knuckles  ! 

A    SPARE    MAN. 

Jerrold  said  to  a  very  thin  man,  "  Sir,  you  are  like  a 
pin,  but  without  the  head  or  the  point." 

LOVE    IN    DEATH. 

Death  takes  fear  from  love,  and,  as  I  feel  it,  makes 
love  stronger.  I  loved  her  when  she  was  here,  and  must 
I  not  love  her — still  more  love  her — now  she  is  an 
angel  ? 


When  Jerrold  was  living  at  Boulogne,  he  caught  rheu- 
matism in  the  aye^.  He  was  attended  by  a  coarse,  brutal 
French  doctor,  who  blistered  him  severely,  to  no  purpose. 


120  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

Jerrold  was  in  a  dark  room  for  several  weeks,  under  the 
ineffectual  treatment  of  this  unpleasant  practitioner.  One 
day  the  doctor  was  dressing  the  blister  roughly,  when  his 
patient  winced : — 

"  Ce  n'est  rien—ce  n'est  Hen  !  "  said  the  doctor.  Pres- 
ently some  hot  water  was  brought  in  for  the  doctor's 
hands.  The  doctor  dipped  his  fingers  into  the  basin,  but 
withdrew  them  rapidly,  with  a  loud  exclamation.  The 
water  was  nearly  boiling.  Jerrold  could  not  resist  the 
opportunity — ill  as  he  was,  he  said  to  the  scalded  doctor, 
imitating  his  voice, 

"  Ce  n'est  Hen — ce  n'est  Hen  !  " 

"the  lane"  and  the  law. 
Chancery  Lane  !  Behold  a  gentleman  in  glossy  black, 
with  pale  and  contemplative  face,  with  half-closed  lids, 
and  eyes,  hare-like,  thrown  back ;  he  glances  at  an  op- 
posite arch,  the  entrance  to  a  solemn  hall,  where  nothino- 
is  heard  save  notes  of  sweetest  sound — justice  tinkling 
her  golden  scales !  The  arch,  to  common  eyes,  is  built 
of  coarsest  stone  :  it  is  a  piece  of  purest  ivory,  worthy  to 
frame,  the  looking-glass  of  Truth,  whose  silver-voiced  sons 
pass  rustling  in  and  out,  arrayed  in  her  sable  garb ;  for 
Truth,  a  milk-white  virgin  in  the  sky,  became  an  Ethiop 
when  she  touched  the  earth  ;  albeit,  that  these  her 
children  ofttimes  deny  the  change,  vowing  the  blackest 
black  to  be  the  whitest  white.  And  in  and  out  these 
goodly  creatures  pass — wisdom  on  their  brows,  hope  in 
their  eyes,  and  peace  and  love  upon  their  lips.  Their 
awful  heads  bear  curled  treasures,  snatched  from  the 
manes  and  tails  of  steeds  of  Araby,  whitened  with  pow- 
dered pearls,  which  Venus'  self  might  weep  for.  The 
phcenix  might  nestle  in  one  of  these — by   the  profane 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  121 

illiterate  denominated  wigs — deeming  it  his  chosen  spi- 
ceiy. 

A   PICTURE    OF   MISERY. 

With  but  one  sixpence — and  that  begged  from  an  old 
acquaintance — in  his  pocket,  houseless,  hopeless,  his  coat 
in  tatters,  a  ventilating  rent  in  his  breeches,  melancholy 
eating  his  heart,  a  November  sky,  a  November  rain,  and 
a  hole  in  either  shoe !  Is  not  this  an  hour  in  which  a 
man  could  lie  down  in  a  coffin  as  in  a  bed  ? — in  which  he 
could  gather  himself  to  sleep — wrap  even  a  parish  shroud 
about  him,  as  he  would  wrap  a  warm  great  coat,  compose 
his  arms  upon  his  breast,  and  then  fall  smiling  off  into 
death — smiting  at  the  running,  scraping,  stamping,  shuf- 
fling, still  to  continue  over  his  head,  by  the  lackeys,  the 
flatterers,  the  debaters,  the  jugglers,  of  the  world  above  ? 

SLEEP. 

Man  sleeps.  Oh,  ye  gentle  ministers,  who  tune  our 
dreaming  brains  with  happy  music — who  feed  the  snoring 
hungry  with  apples  fresh  from  Paradise — who  take  the 
fetters  from  the  slave,  and  send  him  free  as  the  wild  ante- 
lope bounding  past  his  hut — who  make  the  hen-pecked 
spouse,  though  sleeping  near  his  gentle  tyrant,  a  lordly 
Turk — who  write  on  the  prison-walls  of  the  poor  debtor 
"  Received  in  full  of  all  demands  " — whatever  ye  may  be, 
wherever  ye  reside,  we  pray  ye,  for  one  short  hour  at 
least,  cheat  poor  mortals  ! 

THE    ARDENT    ADMIRER    OF   PHILOSOPHY. 

We  will  not  roundly  assert  that  he  always  understood 
the  object  of  his  admiration  ;  but  his  devotion  to  it  wa3 
no  whit  the  less  from  his  ignorance — nay,  we  question  if 


122  JERROLD'S    WIT. 

it  was  not  heightened  by  imperfect  knowledge.  Phi- 
losophy was  his  idol ;  and  so  the  thing  was  called  philos- 
ophy, he  paused  not  to  pry  into  its  glass  dyes,  to  question 
the  paint  smeared  upon  its  cheeks,  the  large  bead  dang- 
ling from  its  nose,  and  its  black  and  gilded  teeth — not 
he  ;  but  down  he  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  lifted  up  his 
simple  hands,  and  raised  his  pullet  voice,  and  cried, 
"  Divine  philosophy ! "  What  a  fortunate  thing  that 
philosophy  is  so  musical  a  word ! 

LUCK. 

Luck — mere  luck — may  make  even  madness  wisdom. 

"  JACK'S  "    DEFINITION    OF    THE    HEIGHT    OF    PRIDE. 

Proud  as  a  mermaid  with  a  new  gold  frame  to  her 
looking-glass. 


'o  o' 


"  BREACH    OF    PROMISE." 

A  lady,  being  deserted  by  one  man,  has  no  other 
remedy  than  an  appeal  to  twelve. 

BIRD-CATCHERS. 

Mercenary  naturalists. 

"  SEEING    HIS    WAT." 

The  snail,  that  carries  its  eyes  at  the  end  of  its  horns, 
had  not  a  more  projective  look.  Seeing  nothing  he  could, 
to  his  own  satisfaction,  peer  into  the  very  essences  of 
things. 

THE    BROKER. 

The  smooth-faced  sworn  functionary — he  with  univer- 
sal judgment,  who,  on  the  sanctity  of  his  oath,  philosophi- 
cally and  arithmetically  proves  the  worth  of  all  things. 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  123 

STAGE    ANGELS. 

Happy,  guileless  little  creatures — promoted  from  the 
vulgarity  of  mortal  childhood  to  spirits  of  a  heavenly 
order !  Not  banished  to  bed  with  the  rooks  and  the 
lambs,  but  kept  awake,  curled  and  painted,  to  receive  at 
midnight  the  cheers  and  loud  applause  of  an  adult,  dis- 
cerning public. 

THE    LAW'S    UNCERTAINTY. 

Nothing  is  certain  in  this  world,  and  more  especially  in 
that  part  of  it  known  as  "Westminster  Hall. 

THE    PARISH    DOCTOR'S    LAMP. 

Mars  may  have  his  planet,  but  give  me  what,  in  the 
spirit  of  the  old  mythology,  might  be  made  a  star  in 
heaven, — the  night-lamp  of  the  apothecary,  who  fights 
disease  beside  the  poor  man's  bed,  his  only  fee  the  bless- 
ing of  the  poor  ! 

THE    CONFIDENCE    OF   THE    TIMES. 

Jerrold  said,  speaking  of  a  young  gentleman  who  had 
dared  the  danger  of  print  before  he  could  hold  a  razor, — 

"  Nowadays  men  think  they're  frogs  before  they're  tad- 
poles." 

TRUE    BEAUTY. 

Beautiful  are  queens  on  thrones  ;  but  is  there  not  a 
beauty  (eternal  as  the  beauty  of  the  stars)  in  placid  want, 
smiling  with  angel  looks,  and  gathering  holiest  power, 
even  from  the  misery  that  consumes  it  ? 

CUP    AND    SAUCER. 

A  gentleman,  who  was  remarkable  at  once  for  Baccha- 


124  JEEROLD'S  WIT. 

nalian  devotion  and  remarkably  large  and  starting  eyes, 
was,  one  evening,  the  subject  of  conversation.  The  ques- 
tion appeared  to  be,  whether  the  gentleman  in  question 
wore  upon  his  face  any  signs  of  his  excesses. 

"  I  think  so,"  said  Jerrold  ;  "  I  always  know  when  he 
has  been  in  his  cups  by  the  state  of  his  saucers." 

LUCKY  AND  UNLUCKY  DOGS. 

I  have  often  been  struck  by  the  inequality  of  fortune 
suffered  by  dogs.  Here  is  one  couched  upon  a  pillow,  fed 
with  chicken,  sweet  biscuit,  and  new  milk,  caressed  and 
combed,  and  decked  with  a  silver  collar — yea,  sheltered 
like  a  baby  from  the  wind  and  rain  ;  and  here  is  another, 
harnessed  in  a  truck,  fed  with  offal,  or  fed  not  at  all — beat 
with  the  stick  of  a  cruel  master,  or  kicked  with  his  iron 
heel. 

THE    ACCIDENTS    OF   FORTUNE. 

Men  often  flourish  for  the  very  want  of  those  merits 
for  which  they  are  accidentally  rewarded. 

LAW   BOOKS. 

Here,  the  stricken  stranger,  bleeding  with  his  wrongs, 
may  pause  and  read  his  glorious  remedy.  Here,  the  wan 
widow  gathers  hope  for  her  just  cause  ;  and  here,  the 
orphan  dries  her  sorrow,  comforted  by  strong  assertion. 
And  here,  the  man  hurt  by  some  neighbour's  tongue  may 
learn  if  he  be  surely  hurt  or  not.  Survey  the  shelves — 
they  bend  with  the  weight  of  grave  opinions, — and  learn 
this  further  good,  that  to  a  single  point  there  run  a  hun- 
dred opposite  lines.  Talk  of  vendors  of  romance !  Give 
us  the  window  of  a  law-bookseller  for  the  bloody  tales  of 
iron  life. 


JERBOLD'S   WIT.  125 

A    REASON    FOR    THE    FALL. 

Jerrold  said,  "Eve  ate  the  apple,  that  she  might 
dress." 

CAUDLE    IN    THE    VEINS. 

Every  woman,  no  matter  how  divinely  composed,  has 
in  her  ichor-flowing  veins  one  drop,  "  no  bigger  than  a 
wren's  eye,"  of  Caudle.  Eve  herself  may  now  and  then 
have  been  guilty  of  a  lecture,  murmuring  it  balmily 
amongst  the  rose-leaves. 

MAIDS    OF   HONOFR. 

Hapless  images  of  ceremony — poor  moving  anatomies, 
with  eyes  that  must  not  wink,  tongues  that  must  not 
speak,  and,  hardest  tyranny  of  all,  with  mouths  that  must 
not  yawn  at  the  dull  discipline  that  consumes  them. 
Had  I  been  a  fairy  wand,  I  would  have  changed  them 
straight,  have  bestowed  upon  them  the  paradise  of  a 
three-legged  stool,  with  a  cow  to  milk  beneath  the  odour- 
breathing  hawthorn. 

POVERTY'S    DIVINITIES. 

Unseen  are  the  divinities  that,  descending  from  garrets, 
tread  the  loud,  foul,  sordid,  crawling  highways  of  London. 
There  is  a  something — a  look  of  service  in  the  aspect  of 
some  ;  a  depression  that  elevates,  a  dogged  air  of  courage, 
that  speaks  the  fighting-man  in  poverty's  battalions — an 
honourable,  undisguised,  threadbareness,  that  marks  the 
old  campaigner!  Has  not  such  poverty  its  genii — its 
attending  spirits  ?  Yes  ;  a  bloodless  victory  is  its  body- 
guard, and  the  tatter-bearer  an  angel. 


126  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

VANITY    UNMASKED. 

If  dim-eyed  Vanity  would  use  the  spectacles  of  Truth, 
she  would  at  times  see  blood  on  her  satins — on  her  bro- 
cades— on  her  lace — on  every  rich  and  glistening  thread 
that  hanss  about  her — blood.  She  would  see  herself  a 
grim  idol,  worshipped  by  the  world's  unjust  necessities, 
and,  so  beholding,  would  feel  a  quicker  throb  of  heart,  a 
larger  compassion  for  her  forced  idolators. 

UNREMITTING    KINDNESS. 

"  Call  that  a  kind  man,"  said  an  actor,  speaking  of  an 
absent  acquaintance  ;  "  a  man  who  is  away  from  his 
family,  and  never  sends  them  a  farthing !  Call  that 
kindness !  " 

"  Yes,  unremitting  kindness,"  Jerrold  replied. 

THE    LITTLE    GREAT. 

Poor  small  things,  infinitely  small  in  their  imagined 
greatness ;  men  who,  like  the  maggot  in  a  nut,  feed  and 
grow  gross  in  darkness,  unwitting  of  the  world  of  light 
and  beauty,  without  that  petty  shell  of  self  that  circles 
them ! 

WARM    FRIENDSHIPS. 

Some  people  were  talking  with  Jerrold  about  a  gentle- 
man as  celebrated  for  the  intensity  as  for  the  shortness  of 
his  friendships. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jerrold,  "  his  friendships  are  so  warm  that 
he  no  sooner  takes  them  up  than  he  puts  them  down 
again." 

THE    GREEN   ROOM. 

Malice,  envy,  and  slander   may  be  there;    but    say 


JERKOLD'S   WIT.  127 

where  are  they  not,  and  what  an  amaranthine  bank  that 
will  be — what  a  halfway  resting-place  to  heaven  for 
human  weariness  ! 

THE    MARKS    OF    TIME. 

"We  do  not  always  trust  to  the  seeming  marks  of  Time, 
knowing  that,  like  an  unjust  tapster,  he  is  now  and  then 
apt  to  score  double. 

THE    ROSES    OF    LIFE. 

There  are  some  people  who  are  so  happy,  smelling  and 
plucking  the  roses  about  them,  that  they  never  think  of 
the  slugs  and  creeping  things  that  may  be  at  their  roots. 

HUMAN   FALLIBILITY. 

The  very  best  of  us  soil,  ay,  sooner  than  a  bride's 
riband. 

A    BLACK    SPOT. 

A  place  whose  shadows  are  as  griefs — whose  dews  are 
as  misery. 

THE    SOUL. 

The  soul  is  at  best  as  a  trained  hawk  ;  let  it  fly  as  high 
as  it  will,  there  is  its  master,  for  the  time,  with  his  feet 
upon  the  earth  ;  and  straightway  it  drops  from  the  clouds 
at  his  feet. 

CONFIDENCE. 

The  first  time  Jerrold  saw  Tom  Dibdin,  the  song- 
writer said  to  him, — 

"Youngster,  have  you  sufficient  confidence  in  me  to 
lend  me  a  guinea  ?  " 


128  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

Jerrokl. — "  Oh !  yes ;  I've  all  the  confidence,  but  I 
haven't  the  guinea." 

SUSPICION. 

Woman — bless  her  ! — a  thousand  and  a  thousand  times 
softens  the  ruggedness  of  fortune  ;  nevertheless,  she  has 
now  and  then  a  knack  of  making  bad  worse  by  the  force 
of  ill-timed  suspicion. 

A    ROCK    IN    THE    SEA. 

The  world's  almanac,  with  ages  in  it,  printed  after 
ages ;  Time,  solemn  in  the  granite  of  a  dead  world,  yet 
wearing  on  his  sunny  brow  the  flowers  of  the  morning. 

THE    WIDOW'S    CAP. 

To  kiss  a  woman  in  a  widow's  cap !  Excuse  human 
infirmity  as  we  may,  is  there  not  very  great  presumption 
in  the  act  ?  Is  it  not  greeting  the  handmaid  of  death  ? — 
Again,  is  there  not  something  awful,  freezing,  in  that 
white,  chilling  muslin,  that  sometimes  surrounds  the  face 
of  Venus  with  a  frame  of  snow — that  ices  beauty  for  a 
twelvemonth  ?  In  the  superstition  of  custom,  we  are 
prone  to  think  the  dead  has  yet  some  lien  upon  her — a 
year's  hold  at  least. 

THE    DELIGHTS    OF    JESTING. 

Take  a  sulky  fellow  with  a  brow  ever  wrinkled  at  the 
laughing  hours,  let  them  laugh  never  so  melodiously — 
who  looks  with  a  death's-head  at  the  pleasant  fruits  of  the 
earth  heaped  upon  his  table — who  leaves  his  house  for 
business  as  an  ogre  leaves  his  cave  for  food — who  returns 
home  joyless  and  grim  to  his  silent  wife  and  creeping 
children — take  such  a  man,  and,  if  possible,  teach  him  to 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  129 

joke.     'Twould  be  like  turning  a  mandril  into  an  Apollo. 
A  hearty  jest  kills  an  ugly  face. 

A   POOR    PLATER. 

The  actor — that  is,  the  mere  word-speaker,  who  brings 
no  great  original  mind  to  his  task — is  the  jackdaw  that; 
albeit  innocent  of  the  larceny,  is  always  dressed  in  the 
feathered  pens  of  authors. 

THE    IMPUDENCE    OF    RELIGION. 

In  the  outside  world  of  brazen  brows,  there  is  no 
impudence  like  the  impudence  of  what  men  Avill  call 
religion. 

A    FULL    STOP. 

Even  the  tongue  of  a  vain  and  jealous  woman  will  stop 
— an  invincible  proof  of  the  end  of  all  mortal  things. 

LAUGHTER. 

O  glorious  laughter !  thou  man-loving  spirit,  that  for 
a  time  dost  take  the  burden  from  the  weary  back — that 
dost  lay  salve  to  the  feet,  bruised  and  cut  by  flints  and 
shards — that  takest  blood-baking  melancholy  by  the  nose, 
and  makest  it  grin  despite  itself — that  all  the  sorrows  of 
the  past,  the  doubts  of  the  future,  confoundest  in  the  joy 
of  the  present — that  makest  man  truly  philosophic — con- 
queror of  himself  and  care.  What  was  talked  of  as  the 
golden  chain  of  Jove,  was  nothing  but  a  succession  of 
laughs,  a  chromatic  scale  of  merriment,  reaching  from 
earth  to  Olympus. 

THE    REPUTATION    OF   TRUE    GENIUS. 

To  some  folks  reputation  comes  with  a  gentle,  divine 
9 


130  JERROLD'S    WIT. 

approach.  One  has  carved  a  Venus  whose  marble  mouth 
would  smile  paralysis  from  Nestor ;  another  has  painted 
a  picture,  and,  with  Promethean  trick,  has  fixed  a  fire 
from  heaven  on  the  canvas  ;  another  has  penned  a  book, 
and  made  tens  of  thousands  of  brains  musical  with  divin- 
est  humanity — kings  have  no  such  music  from  cymbals, 
sackbut,  and  psaltery, — and  to  each  of  them  Reputation 
comes  silently,  like  a  fairy  through  their  study  key-hole. 
They  quaff  renown  refined,  cold-drawn,  cold  as  castor- 
oil  ;  and,  if  they  be  true  philosophers,  they  will  swallow 
it  as  a  thing  no  less  medicinal. 

CONTENTMENT. 

Contentment  is  the  prettiest  thing  in  the  world  ;  it 
saves  people  such  a  deal  of  trouble.  'Tis  an  excellent 
thing — a  beautiful  invention  for  the  lower  orders  ;  and 
then  it's  so  easy  for  them  to  obtain — easy  as  their  own 
bacon,  milk,  and  eggs.  But  with  high  folks,  who  are 
constantly  troubled  with  a  thousand  things,  contentment 
would  be  as  out  of  place  as  a  gipsy  in  a  court  suit. 

ADVICE    TO    THE    YOUNG. 

Jerrold  said  to  an  ardent  young  gentleman,  who  burned 
with  a  desire  to  see  himself  in  print,  "  Be  advised  by  me, 
young  man ;  don't  take  down  the  shutters  before  there  is 
something  in  the  window." 

BEAUTY. 

Beauty  !  it's  like  a  guinea ;  when  it's  once  changed  at 
all,  it's  gone  in  a  twinkling. 

AN    INDEPENDENT    VOTER    AND    HIS    WIFE. 

Mrs.  Nutts. — Often  when   the   children  want  things, 


JEEROLD'S   WIT.  131 

Nutts  will  have  the  money  for  the  taxes,  to  preserve  what 
he  calls  his  independent  vote.  And  for  years  and  years — 
no  matter  how  I've  been  pinched — he  has  preserved  it. 
And  what's  the  good  on  it?  Independence!  I  don't 
blame  anybody  for  being  independent  when  they  can 
afford  it ;  then  it's  right  and  respectable.  Otherwise,  it's 
a  piece  of  extravagance  beyond  poor  people. 

Nutts. — Now,  my  dear,  if  you'll  let  alone  my  politics, 
I'll  promise  not  to  interfere  with  your  turnip-tops  ;  and 
I'm  sure,  if  turnip-tops  can  speak,  I  heard  'em  just  now 
crying  out  for  you  to  come  and  pick  'em  in  the  kitchen. 
A  cleverer  woman  at  greens  never  lived  ;  but  for  all  that, 
my  dear,  you  are  not  quite  up  to  the  House  of  Commons. 
—  (Mrs.  Ntitis  looks  an  unspoken  repartee,  and  whisks 
out.) 

SISTERS    OF    CHARITY. 

Excellent  women  !  Creatures  preserved  from  all  the 
hurry,  all  the  sordid  coarseness  of  life,  to  be  the  simple 
almoners  of  human  kindness. 

A   PURGATORY   OF   FLEAS. 

If  all  our  faults,  our  little  tricks,  our  petty  cozenings, 
our  bo-peep  moods  with  truth  and  justice,  could  be  sent 
upon  us  in  the  blankets,  all  embodied  in  fleas,  how  many 
of  us  with  lily  skins  would  get  up  spotted  scarlet ! 

INDIRECT    MOTION. 

I  have  found  that,  with  some  natures,  it  would  pain 
and  perplex  their  moral  anatomy  to  move  direct  to  an 
object.  Like  snakes,  they  seem  formed  to  take  pleasure 
in  indirect  motion ;  with  them  the  true  line  of  moral 
beauty  is  a  curve. 


132  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

PHYSIOGNOMY    IN    BRICKS    AND    MORTAR. 

There  is  a  physiognomy  in  houses,  at  least  such  is  my 
belief.  Sure  I  am,  I  have  seen  houses  with  a  swagger- 
ing hat-a-cock  sort  of  look  ;  whilst  other  habitations  have 
seemed  to  squint  and  leer  wickedly  from  the  corners  of 
the  windows. 

POETRY. 

The  poetic  spirit — for  what  is  hope  but  the  poetry  of 
daily  life  ? — will  touch  the  coarsest  soul  that  answers,  like 
a  harp-string  to  the  wind,  unconscious  of  the  power  that 
stirs  it. 

FLOWERS. 

The  penny — the  ill-spared  penny — for  it  would  buy  a 
wheaten  roll — the  poor  housewife  pays  for  a  root  of  prim- 
rose, is  her  offering  to  the  hopeful  loveliness  of  nature ; 
is  her  testimony  of  the  soul  struggling  with  the  blighting, 
crushing  circumstance  of  sordid  earth,  and  sometimes 
yearning  towards  earth's  sweetest  aspects.  Amidst  the 
violence,  the  coarseness,  and  the  suffering  that  may  sur- 
round and  defile  the  wretched,  there  must  be  moments 
when  the  heart  escapes,  craving  for  the  innocent  and 
lovely  ;  when  the  soul  makes  for  itself,  even  of  a  flower, 
a  comfort  and  a  refuge. 

THE    BATTLE    OF   POVERTY. 

Great  are  the  odds  against  poverty  in  the  strife.  How 
often  is  the  poor  man,  the  compelled  Quixote,  made  to 
attack  a  windmill  in  the  hope  that  he  may  get  a  handful 
of  the  corn  that  it  grinds  ?  and  many  and  grievous  are 
his  buffets  ere  the  miller — the  prosperous  fellow  with  the 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  133 

golden  thumb — rewards  poor  poverty  for  the  unequal 
battle. 


THE   RELIGION    OF    SHOW. 

There  are  a  good  many  pious  people  who  are  as  care- 
ful of  their  religion  as  of  their  best  service  of  china,  only 
using  it  on  holiday  occasions,  for  fear  it  should  get  chip- 
ped or  flawed  in  working-day  wear. 

THE    CAP    OP    LIBERTY. 

The  only  cap  of  liberty,  since  in  it  men  one  third  of 
their  lives  visit  the  land  of  sleep — the  only  land  where 
all  men  are  equal — the  veritable  cap  of  liberty  is  the 
night-cap. 

RESPECTABILITY   AND    DEBT. 

Respectability  is  all  very  well  for  folks  who  can  have 
it  for  ready  money ;  but  to  be  obliged  to  run  in  debt  for 
it — it's  enough  to  break  the  heart  of  an  angel. 

GENIUS    GROPING   IN   THE    DARK. 

It  is  only  the  vulgar  mind  that  thinks  to  win  its  fortune 
along  the  broad  highway  of  life  in  clearest  day  ;  the  nobler 
genius,  hugging  itself  in  its  supremacy,  searches  pits  and 
holes,  with  this  sustaining  creed,  that  though  the  prize 
acquired  be  not  really  of  half  the  worth  to  that  picked  up 
in  open  light,  it  has  to  the  finder  a  double  value,  because 
obtained  in  secrecy  and  gloom. 

A    SHORT    CUT    TO    POPULARITY. 

I  am  certain  that  the  shortest  cut  to  popularity  of  some 
sort,  is  to  do  something  desperate.  A  dull,  stupid  fellow 
that  pays  his  way  and  does  harm  to  nobody — why  he  may 


134  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

die  off  like  a  fly  in  November,  and  be  no  more  thought 
of.  But  only  let  him  do  some  devil's  deed — do  a  bit  of 
murder  as  coolly  as  he'd  pare  a  turnip, — and  what  he 
does  and  what  he  says  :  whether  he  takes  coffee,  or  bran- 
dy and  water  ;  when  he  sleeps,  and  when  he  wakes,  when 
he  smiles  and  when  he  grinds  his  teeth — all  of  this  is 
put  down  as  if  all  the  world  went  upon  his  movements, 
and  couldn't  go  on  without  knowing  'em. 

MANCHESTER    MEN. 

Two  or  three  provincial  gentlemen — I  knew  them  at 
once  to  be  Manchester  men — were  grouped  together, 
staring  at  the  giraffes  in  the  Zoological  Gardens. 

"  Handsome  creatures  !  "  cried  the  most  enthusiastic  ; 
very  handsome  ;  beautiful  colours,  too,  arn't  they?" 

"  Humph  !  "  observed  another,  staring  at  the  spots  on 
the  skin,  "  beautiful ;  but  I — I  wonder  if  they're  fast !  " 

PROFITING   BY   THE    DEAD. 

Out  upon  the  vile  and  sordid  matters  blighting  this 
beautiful,  this  liberal  world,  that  self-promotion  should 
ever  be  sought  upon  the  coffin-plates  'of  our  neighbours  ! 

LONDON    OUT    OF    SEASON 

is  for  all  the  world  like  a  fine  lady  in  an  undress  gown, 
with  all  her  paint  wiped  off. 

SOLDIERS. 

Looked  at  as  they  ought  to  be,  they  are  to  the  world 
but  as  poppies  to  corn-fields. 

PATIENCE. 

Patience  is  the  strongest  of  strong  drinks,  for  it  kills 
the  giant  Despair. 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  135 

BISHOP    PHILPOTTS. 

What  a  lawyer  was  spoiled  in  that  bishop !  What  a 
brain  he  has  for  cobwebs !  How  he  drags  you  along 
through  sentence  after  sentence — every  one  a  dark  pas- 
sage— until  your  head  swims,  and  you  can't  see  your 
finger  close  to  your  nose  ! 

THE    CUP    OF    PATIENCE. 

What  a  goblet !  It  is  set  round  with  diamonds  from 
the  mines  of  Eden ;  it  is  carved  by  angelic  hands,  and 
filled  at  the  eternal  fount  of  goodness. 

EXETER    HALL. 

What  a  blessing  is  Exeter  Hall !  What  a  safety-valve 
it  is  for  the  patriotism,  and  indignation,  and  scorn,  and 
hatred — and  all  other  sorts  of  public  virtues — that  but 
for  it,  or  some  such  place,  would  fairly  burst  so  many 
excellent  folks,  if  they  couldn't  go  and  relieve  their  swell- 
ing souls  with  a  bit  of  talk  !  As  it  is,  they  speechify  and 
are  saved ! 

AN    EXCEPTION    TO    A    RULE. 

Whenever  a  man  exclaims  that  all  mankind  are  vil- 
lains, be  assured  that  he  contemplates  an  instant  offer  of 
himself  as  an  exception. 

THE    FAMILY    OF    STAND-STILL. 

There's  a  sort  of  people  in  the  world  that  can't  bear 
making  any  progress.  I  wonder  they  ever  walk,  unless 
they  walk  backwards  !  I  wonder  they  don't  refuse  to  go 
out  when  there's  a  new  moon ;  and  all  out  of  love  and 
respect  for  that  •■ancient  institution  * — the  old  one. 


136  JERROLD'S  'WIT. 

A   WORD    WITH    A    BEGGAR    ON    HORSEBACK. 

When  a  man  gets  to  the  top  of  the  hill  by  honesty,  he 
deserves  to  be  taken  by  the  neck  and  hurled  down  again, 
if  he's  ashamed  to  turn  about  and  look  at  the  lowly  road 
along  which  he  once  travelled. 

THEATRICAL    "STARS." 

I  knew  a  pork-butcher  who  gave  it  out  that  he  fattened 
all  his  pigs  upon  pine-apples ;  he  sold  them  for  what  price 
he  liked,  and  people,  having  bought  the  pigs,  swore  they 
could  taste  the  pine-apple  flavour.  It's  much  the  same 
with  many  of  the  "  stars ; "  managers  have  only  to 
declare  that  they  give  'em  ten,  twenty,  or  fifty  pounds  a 
night,  and  the  sagacious  public  proportion  their  admira- 
tion to  the  salary  received. 

A    RAILWAY    SPECULATOR. 

He  had  as  many  lines  in  his  face  as  there  are  lines 
laid  down.  Every  one  of  his  features  seemed  cut  up, 
and  all  seemed  travelling  from  one  another.  Six  months 
since  he  hadn't  a  wrinkle,  and  now  his  face  was  like  the 
map  of  England. 

THE    NATIONAL    GALLERY. 

Corner-Cupboard  Hall,  a  tenement  known  by  courtesy 
as  the  National  Gallery ! 

NOT    SO    BAD    AS    SHE    SEEMS. 

We  slander  Fortune ;  because  the  wise  and  bountiful 
creature  will  not  let  us  at  all  times  and  in  all  places  have 
our  wicked  will  of  her ;  like  unprincipled  rakes,  we  take 
poor  revenge  by  calling  her  naughty  names. 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  137 

RAPID    FORTUNES. 

Fortunes  made  in  no  time  are  like  shirts  made  in  no 
time — it's  ten  to  one  if  they  hang  long  together. 

man's  blindness. 

"What  a  mole-eyed  thing  is  man  !  How  he  crucifies 
himself  with  vain  thoughts — how  he  stands  upon  tiptoe, 
straining  his  eye-strings,  trying  to  look  into  the  future, 
when  at  that  moment  the  play  is  over — the  show  is  done. 

nobility  in  suffering. 
Nobly  suffered,  injuries  undeserved  do  sit  as  graces. 

beauty's  alloy. 
Every  rose  has  its  thorn :  you   never  find  a  woman 
without  pins  and  needles. 

poverty's  darts. 

Of  all  the  ai'rows  shot  at  our  miserable  nature,  is  there 
one  that  is  not  made  the  keener  if  whetted  on  the  poor 
man's  hearth  ? 

OUTWARD    SIGNS. 

The  names  of  houses  are  for  the  world  outside.  "When 
folks  read  "  Rose  Cottage "  on  the  wall,  they  seldom 
think  of  the  lots  of  thorns  that  are  inside. 

POST-MORTE.M    REWARDS. 

It's  a  great  comfort  to  great  men,  who,  when  in  this 
world,  are  thought  very  small  indeed,  to  think  how  big 
they'll  be  upon  earth,  after  they've  gone  to  heaven — a 
comfort  for  'em,  when  they  may  happen  to  want  a  coat, 


138  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

to  think  of  the  suit  of  bronze  or  marble  that  kings  and 
queens  will  afterwards  give  'em  ! 

DEATH. 

Death  is  a  slow  paymaster,  but  the  surest. 

"it  will  do  you  no  good." 

How  often  is  this  belief  the  barren  satisfaction  of 
hungry  virtue !  How  often  does  famishing  innocence, 
watching  the  wicked  feeders  of  the  world — the  gorbellied 
varlets,  with  mouths  greasy  with  the  goods  of  cheated 
worth — find  comfort  in  the  belief  that  it  will  do  them  no 
good !  Lean  virtue  shakes  the  head  and  cries,  "  It  will 
do  you  no  good,"  and  rapine  still  keeps  greasy  in  the 
face,  still  grows  "  a  finger  on  the  ribs." 

BILLIARD-BALLS. 

I  have  seen  mountains  of  cannon-balls,  to  be  shot  away 
at  churches,  and  into  people's  peaceful  habitations,  break- 
ing the  china  and  nobody  knows  what ;  but  there's  not 
one  of 'em  (thinks  the  ill-used  wife)  can  do  half  the  mis- 
chief of  a  billiard-ball.  That's  a  ball  that's  gone  through 
many  a  wife's  heart,  to  say  nothing  of  her  children. 
When  once  a  man  is  given  to  playing  billiards,  the  devil's 
always  tempting  him  with  a  ball,  as  he  tempted  Eve  with 
an  apple. 

THE    STRUGGLES    OF    GENIUS. 

There  is  a  golden  volume  yet  to  be  written  on  the  first 
struggles  of  forlorn  genius  in  London — magnificent,  mis- 
erable, ennobling,  degrading  London.  If  all  who  have 
suffered  would  confess  their  sufferings — would  show 
themselves  in  the  stark,  shivering  squalor  in  which  they 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  139 

first  walked  her  streets — would  paint  the  wounds  which 
first  bled  in  her  garrets — what  a  book  might  be  placed  in 
the  hands  of  pride  !  what  stern  wholesome  rebukes  for 
the  selfish  sons  of  fortune !  what  sustaining  sweetness  for 
the  faint  of  spirit !  How  often  should  we  find  the  lowly 
comforting  the  high — the  ignorant  giving  lessons  to  the 
accomplished — the  poor  of  earth  aiding  and  sustaining 
the  richly-endowed ! 

GREAT    THINGS    FROM    SMALL. 

A  learned  philosopher,  at  the  cost  of  some  words,  sets 
forth  the  useful  lesson  he  acquired  through  u  an  augment- 
ing-glass,  or  microscope,"  showing  how  a  certain  vilest 
animal,  "set'':.g  himself  to  wrestle  with  a  flea,  was  so  in- 
censed that  his  blood  ran  down  from  head  to  foot,  and 
from  foot  to  head  again ! "  True  philosopher  !  who  from 
the  bickerings  of  small  despised  animals,  extracts  bitter 
wisdom,  learns  surer  self-government,  than  the  unthinking 
million  carry  from  a  dog-fight,  yea,  from  a  bull-bait ! 

UNION    IS    STRENGTH. 

When  some  women  get  talking,  they  club  all  their 
husbands'  faults  together ;  just  as  children  club  their 
cakes  and  apples,  to  make  a  common  feast  for  the  whole 
set. 

SOMETHING    TO    LOVE. 

The  human  heart  has  of  course  its  pouting  fits  ;  it  de- 
termines to  live  alone  ;  to  flee  into  desert  places  ;  to  have 
no  employment,  that  is,  to  love  nothing ;  but  to  keep 
on  sullenly  beating,  beating,  beating,  until  death  lays  his 
little  finger  on  the  sulky  thing,  and  all  is  still.  It  goes 
away  from  the  world,  and  straightway,  shut  from  human 


140  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

company,  it  falls  in  love  with  a  plant,  a  stone — yea,  it 
dandles  cat  or  dog,  and  calls  the  creature  darling.  Yes, 
it  is  the  beautiful  necessity  of  our  nature  to  love  some- 
thing. 

THE    OLDEST    INHABITANT. 

There  is  something  solemn  in  the  oldest  inhabitant: 
he  is  the  link  between  the  dead  and  the  living ;  in  the 
course  of  nature  the  next  to  be  called  from  among  us  ;  his 
place  immediately  supplied  by  a  second  brother.  Gener- 
ations have  gone,  passed  into  the  far  world,  and  left  him 
here  their  solitary  spokesman — the  one  witness  of  the 
wonders  that  had  birth  among  them.  He  remains  here 
to  check  the  vanity  of  the  present  by  his  testimony  to  the 
past.  "Where  would  be  all  human  experience  without  the 
oldest  inhabitant  ? 

THE    PERILS    OF   AUTHORSHIP. 

Books  !  their  worth  is  a  matter  of  fancy,  say  of  weak- 
ness, to  the  weaker  part  of  mankind ;  they  have  no  stand- 
ard value,  none  at  their  birth.  Hence  the  unknown 
maker  of  a  book — I  speak  especially  of  the  time  when  I 
first  sinned  in  ink — is  a  sort  of  gipsy  in  the  social  scale  ; 
a  picturesque  vagabond,  who  somehow  or  the  other  con- 
trives to  live  on  the  sunny  side  of  the  statutes ;  but  is 
nevertheless  vehemently  suspected  of  all  sorts  of  larceny 
by  respectable  householders. 

HOW   TO    KNOW    A   MAN. 

The  sharp  employ  the  sharp.  Verily,  a  man  may  be 
known  by  his  attorney. 

DIAMONDS. 

A  diamond  is  a  diamond,  though  you  shall  put  it  on  the 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  141 

finger  of  a  beggar.  Only  that  on  the  finger  of  a  beggar, 
nobody  would  believe  it  to  be  a  diamond.  Does  not  men- 
dicant genius  every  day  offer  the  "  precious  jewel  in  its 
head  "  for  sale,  and  yet,  because  the  holder  is  mendicant, 
does  not  the  world  believe  the  jewel  to  be  of  no  value  ? 
Men  have  died  with  jewels  in  their  brains  ;  and  not  until 
the  men  were  dead,  were  the  gems  owned  to  be  of  the 
true  water. 

WORDSWORTH POET    LAUREATE. 

Sad  work  this !  Very  melancholy,  that  bay  leaves 
should  be  pinched  from  the  garland  of  the  poet,  and  only 
to  give  flavour  to  a  court-custard  ! 

THE    DEBTOR. 

In  England,  Hesperian  soil !  the  debtor  wears  no 
slavish  yoke,  loses  no  limb,  is  fixed  to  no  stake,  bears  no 
ignominious  impress.  No,  in  this  our  happy  country, 
where  Law  is  the  bright  babe  begotten  by  Wisdom  upon 
Justice,  the  debtor  is  only — skinned  alive ! 

THE    LONDON    ''DIRECTORY." 

The  riches  of  India — the  spices  of  the  Moluccas — 
blaze  and  are  fragrant  in  the  pages  of  the  "  Directory." 
It  awakens  in  us  recollections  of  bold  discoveries,  hardy 
enterprise,  cunning  invention,  patient  toil ;  and  all  for 
the  wide  family  of  England,  not  for  the  tyrannous  and 
haughty  few,  made  tyrannous  by  the  sense  of  exclusive 
enjoyment.  The  "  forked  animal  "  man  cons  the  page  of 
the  "  Directory,"  and  sees  a  thousand  merchants  offering 
ten  thousand  triumphs  won  by  the  ingenuity,  the  skill, 
the  labour,  and  daring  of  his  kind.  He  reads  the  name 
and  abode  of  a  dealer  in  oil,  and  he  thinks  of  the  bold 


142  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

manner,  harpooning  the  leviathan  amidst  Polar  ice.  A 
"grocer"  in  the  next  line  sends  his  thoughts,  far,  far 
away  among  the  mandarins.  A  ■"  tallow-chandler,"  and 
he  is  riding  in  the  Baltic,  that  the  good  folks  at  home 
may  not  go  to  bed  without  a  caudle. 

CHARACTER. 

Character  flies.  Yes,  it  has  wings  ;  and,  of  course,  the 
lighter  it  is,  the  quicker  it  goes. 

THE  SOLDIER'S  DEATH  IN  BATTLE. 

That  soft  delicious  bed,  with  Death  the  maker — the 
bed  of  glory. 

THE    DIGNITY    OF    COSTS. 

The  hangman  flourishes  his  whip ;  the  attorney  scourges 
with  costs.  To  make  justice  cheap  would  doubtless  make 
her  contemptible :  she  is  therefore  dignified  by  expense ; 
made  glorious  by  the  greatness  of  costs. 

WORTH   NOTHING. 

When  a  man  tells  the  world  he  is  worth  nothing,  the 
world  always  takes  him  at  his  own  valuation. 

DEAD    TREES. 

Eloquently  doth  a  dead  tree  preach  to  the  heart  of 
man  ;  touching  its  appeal  from  the  myriad  forms  of  life 
bursting  about  it !  Yes,  the  dead  oak  of  a  wood,  for  a 
time,  gives  wholesome  check  to  the  heart,  expanding  and 
dancing  with  the  vitality  around.  In  its  calm  aspect,  its 
motionless  look,  it  works  the  soul  to  solemn  thought,  lift- 
ing it  upwards  from  the  earth. 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  143 

EVERLASTING    TRUTH. 

Beautiful  truth !  never  young  and  never  old ;  but 
keeping,  through  all  change  and  all  time,  its  bloom  and 
grace  of  Paradise,  even  to  the  Judgment. 

THE    DOWNFALL    OF    ENGLAND. 

Beautiful  is  the  blending  of  the  patriot  with  the  stoic ! 
Whenever  England  is  destroyed — and  considering  how 
often  this  calamity  has  occurred,  the  British  lion  ought 
certainly  to  give  place  to  the  British  cat — her  political 
Jeremiahs  neither  rend  their  Saxony  nor  sprinkle  ashes 
on  their  bursting  heads ;  but  straightway  ship  their  woes, 
and  steam  to  a  tavern. 

"  England,  beloved  England  " — cries  our  modern  pa- 
triot— "  is  wiped  from  the  world  !  Waiter,  some  Bur- 
gundy ! " 

THE    SPIRIT    OF    WEALTH. 

When  people  make  money  without  earning  it,  it's  like 
taking  a  lot  of  spirits  at  one  draught.  It  gets  into  their 
head,  and  they  don't  know  what  they're  about.  There's 
a  tipsiness  of  the  pocket  as  well  as  of  the  stomach. 

CONFIDENCE — TAKEN  FROM  THE  FRENCH. 

On  the  first  night  of  the  representation  of  one  of  Jer- 
rold's  pieces,  a  successful  adaptator  from  the  French  ral- 
lied him  on  his  nervousness.  "  I,"  said  the  adaptator, 
"  never  feel  nervous  on  the  first  night  of  my  pieces." 

"  Ah,  my  boy,"  Jerrold  replied,  "  you  are  always 
certain  of  success.  Your  pieces  have  all  been  tried 
before." 


144  JEEROLD'S  WIT. 

BILLIARD    SHARPERS. 

There  are  fellows  who  go  every  day  into  billiard-rooms 
to  get  their  dinners,  just  as  a  fox  sneaks  into  a  farm-yard 
to  look  about  him  for  a  fat  goose. 

A    BEAUTIFUL    CHILD. 

A  lady  one  day  spoke  to  Jerrold  about  the  beauty 
of  an  infant.  In  the  enthusiasm  of  her  affection,  she 
said  : — 

"  Really,  I  cannot  find  words  to  convey  to  you  even  a 
faint  idea  of  its  pretty  ways." 

"  I  see,"  Jerrold  replied,  "  its  a  child  more  easily  con- 
ceived than  described." 

VIRTUE    WITH    CLAWS. 

Virtue's  a  beautiful  thing  in  women,  when  they  don't 
go  about,  like  a  child  with  a  drum,  making  all  sorts  of 
noises  with  it.  There  are  some  women  who  think  virtue 
was  given  them  as  claws  were  given  to  cats — to  do 
nothing  but  scratch  with. 

PAINTED    CHARMS. 

Of  a  celebrated  actress,  who,  in  her  declining  days, 
bought  charms  of  carmine  and  pearl-powder,  Jerrold  said. 
"  Egad  !  she  should  have  a  hoop  about  her,  with  a  notice 
upon  it,  '  Beware  of  the  paint.'  " 

BUBBLE    SCHEMES. 

They're  like  treacle  to  flies  ;  when  men  are  well  in 
them,  they  can't  get  out  of  them ;  or  if  they  do,  it's  often 
without  a  feather  to  fly  with. 


JERROLD'S    WIT.  145 

THE   RULING   PASSION. 

Every  body  seems  for  turning  their  farthings  into 
double  sovereigns,  and  cheating  their  neighbours  of  the 
balance. 

A    SUGGESTIVE    PAIR    OF    GREYS. 

Jerrold  was  enjoying  a  drive  one  day  with  a  well-known 
— a  jovial  spendthrift. 

"  "Well,  Jerrold,"  said  the  driver  of  a  very  fine  pair  of 
greys,  "what  do  you  think  of  my  greys?" 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  Jerrold  replied,  "  I  was  just 
thinking  of  vour  duns  !  " 

THE    MOST    FINISHED    GENTLEMAN    IN    EUROPE. 

Every  Englishman  felt  very  proud  indeed  of  this  best- 
wigged  monarch  of  history,  when  he  assured  himself  that 
George  IV.  was  "  the  most  finished  gentleman  in  Europe." 
He  died  ;  and,  having  controlled  the  violence  of  our  grief, 
we  must,  even  at  this  moment,  award  him  the  like  char- 
acter, merely  defrauding  him,  to  speak  in  the  slang  of 
the  day,  of  two  syllables  : — hence,  for  "  finished  gentle- 
man.'' read  "  finished  gent." 

THE    RIVER    STYX. 

He  is  the  wisest  man  in  the  world  who  loves  nothing. 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  river  Styx  ?  One  dip  in  it 
makes  a  man  invulnerable  to  all  things  ;  stones,  arrows, 
bludgeons,  swords,  bullets,  cannon-balls.  It  would  save 
a  good  deal  in  regimentals,  if  the  soldiers  might  bathe 
there.  So  much  for  Styx  upon  the  outward  man  ;  but  I 
have  often  thought  it  would  be  a  capital  thing  if  people 
could  take  it  inwardly  ;  if  they  could  drink  Styx,  like  the 

10 


146  JEREOLD'S   WIT. 

Bath  waters.  A  course  or  two,  and  the  interior  of  a  man 
would  then  be  insensible  of  foolish  weakness.  But  you 
would  never  get  the  women  to  drink  it. 

ELECTION    COMPLIMENTS. 

How  unfit  must  be  the  man  for  the  duties  of  his  office 
— for  the  trials  that,  in  the  House  of  Commons,  he  must 
undergo — if  he  cannot,  properly  and  respectfully,  receive 
at  the  hands  of  an  enlightened  constituency,  any  quantity 
of  mud,  any  number  of  eggs  or  potatoes  !  No,  I  look 
upon  eggs  and  potatoes  as,  I  may  say,  the  corner-stones 
of  the  constitution. 

THE    MAN    OE   THE    "WORLD. 

To  praise  a  man  for  knowledge  of  the  world  is  often  to 
commend  him  only  for  his  knowledge  of  its  dirty  lanes 
and  crooked  alleys.  Any  fool  knows  the  broad  paths — 
the  squares  of  life. 

"HOW    DID    YOU    KNOW   I    EVER   HAD    A   "WIFE?" 

You  look  as  if  you  had  ;  there  is  a  sort  of  married 
mark  upon  some  people — a  sort  of  wedding-ring  mark — 
just  like  the  mark  of  a  collar. 

SLUGS    AND    SLANDER. 

Slugs  crawl  and  crawl  over  our  cabbages,  like  the 
world's  slander  over  a  good  name.  You  may  kill  them, 
it  is  true,  but  there  is  the  slime — there  is  the  slime. 

MUSIC    AT   AN    ELECTION. 

There  is  nothing  like  music  to  bring  folks  up  to  the 
poll.     Fools  are  always  led  by  the  ears. 


JERROLD'S    WIT.  147 

MOTHER    EARTH. 

The  earth,  like  dear  old  Eve,  is  always  a  mother  to  us  ; 
whereas  when  men  deal  with  men,  how  often  do  they  go 
to  work  like  so  many  Cains  and  Abels,  only  they  use 
thumping  lies  instead  of  clubs. 

MONEY. 

Scholars,  when  they  want  to  raise  man  above  the  mon- 
key— heaven  forgive  the  atheists ! — call  him  a  laughing 
animal,  a  tool-making  animal,  a  cooking  animal.  They 
have  all  missed  the  true  description ;  they  should  call  him 
a  coining  animal. 

LYING   IN    STATE. 

Ostrich  feathers, — Genoa  velvet, — and  an  ■"  unparal- 
leled coffin  ! ! !  "  "Well,  when  we  remember  what  coffins 
hold  at  the  best,  such  a  show  is  rightly  named ;  it  is 
"  Lying  in  State,"  and  nothing  better. 

MAY-DAY. 

To-day  is  May-day.  Did  ever  God  walk  the  earth  in 
finer  weather  ?  And  how  gloriously  the  earth  manifests 
the  grandeur  of  the  Presence  !  How  its  blood  dances 
and  glows  in  the  splendour !  It  courses  the  trunks  of 
trees,  and  is  red  and  golden  in  their  blossoms.  It  spar- 
kles in  the  myriad  flowers,  consuming  itself  in  sweetness. 
Every  little  earth-blossom  is  as  an  altar  burning  incense. 
The  heart  of  man,  creative  in  its  overflowing  happiness, 
finds  or  makes  a  fellowship  in  all  things.  The  birds  have 
passing  kindred  with  his  winged  thoughts.  He  hears  a 
stranger,  sweeter  triumph  in  the  skyey  rapture  of  the 
lark  ;  and  the  cuckoo — constant  egotist ! — speaks  to  him 


148 


JERROLD'S    WIT. 


from  the  deep,  distant  wood,  with  a  strange  swooning 
sound.  All  things  are  living,  a  part  of  him.  In  all  he 
sees  and  hears  a  new  and  deep  significance.  In  that 
green  pyramid,  row  above  row,  what  a  host  of  flowers ! 
How  beautiful,  and  how  rejoicing !  What  a  sullen,  soul- 
less thing  the  great  pyramid  to  that  blossoming  chestnut ! 
How  different  the  work  and  workmen  !  A  torrid  monu- 
ment of  human  wrong,  haunted  by  flights  of  ghosts  that 
not  ten  thousand  thousand  years  can  lay — a  pulseless  car- 
case built  of  sweat  and  blood  to  garner  rottenness.  And 
that  pyramid  of  leaves  grew  in  its  strength,  like  silent 
goodness,  heaven  blessing  it :  and  every  year  it  smiles, 
and  every  year  it  talks  to  fading  generations.  What  a 
congregation  of  spirits — spirits  of  the  spring  ! — is  gath- 
ered, circle  above  circle,  in  its  blossoms  ;  and  verily  they 
speak  to  man  with  blither  voice  than  all  the  tongues  of 
Egypt. 

SCHOOL     GIRLS. 

Dear  little  things  !  we  never  see  their  line  of  bonnets 
that  we  do  not  drop  plumb  and  fathom  down  in  contem- 
plation. We  ask  it  of  Time — sweet  little  girls  !  where, 
at  this  moment,  are  your  husbands  ?  How  many  of  them 
are  playing  at  top,  wholly  thoughtless  of  the  blessings 
blossoming  for  them  ?  How  many  trundle  the  hoop,  and 
dream  not  of  the  wedding-ring  that  even  now  may  be 
forged  for  them  ?  How  many  fly  their  long-tailed  kites, 
without  a  thought  of  coming  curl-papers  ?  How  many, 
heedless  of  the  precious  weight  of  matrimony,  are  taught 
to  "  knuckle  down,"  like  boys  at  marble  ? 

EVENING. 

The  day  is  closed,  for  evening  has  stolen,  like  a  pensive 


JEEEOLD'S    WIT.  149 

thought,  upon  us ;  the  moon  hangs,  a  silver  shield  in 
heaven,  and  the  nurse  nightingale  sings  to  the  sleeping 
flowers. 

BOARDING-SCHOOLS. 

"We  know  not  how  it  is,  but  we  have  always  felt  a 
particular  respect  for  boarding-schools  for  young  ladies. 
We  have  a  knack  of  looking  upon  such  abiding-places  as 
great  manufactories  of  the  domestic  virtues — as  the  salt- 
cellars of  a  vain  and  foolish  world.  We  are,  moreover, 
prone  to  consider  them  as  towers  and  castles — whence 
(as  in  the  precious  old  times)  young  ladies  walk  forth, 
their  accomplishments  breaking  like  sunbeams  about 
them,  to  bless,  elevate,  and  purify  ungrateful,  wayward, 
earthly  man. 

THE    SMILING    SUN. 

The  sun  seems  to  smile  more  sweetly  on  truth  flourish- 
ing in  beauty. 

THEORY   AND    PRACTICE. 

Man,  as  a  lover,  professes  to  admire  the  theory  of 
knowledge  in  all  its  matters  of  filigree.  As  a  husband, 
he  demands  the  sternness  of  practice.  He  who  with  his 
affianced  will  talk  of  mounting  to  the  stars,  when  married 
will  expect  his  wife  to  descend  to  the  affairs  of  the 
kitchen. 

YES    AND    NO. 

For  good  or  evil,  the  giants  of  life. 

MAN'S    VULNERABLE    POINT. 

From  the  very  weakness  of  woman  may  we  expect  the 


150  JERROLD'S    WIT. 

greater  strength.  The  weapons  to  subdue  man  are  not 
to  be  found  in  the  library,  but  in  the  kitchen  !  The 
weakest  part  of  the  crocodile  is  his  stomach.  Man  is  a 
crocodile. 

A    SLIGHT    DIFFERENCE. 

Jerrold  was  describing  the  sordid  avarice  of  a  certain 
Hebrew  bill-discounter.     He  said :  "  The  only  difference 

between  Moses  and  Judas  Iscariot  is  that  Moses 

would  have  sold  our  Saviour  for  more  money." 

FLAX  AND  LAUREL. 

This  fellow,  with  a  lacquer  look  of  false  mirth,  lived  for 
a  month  and  more  on  counterfeit  half-crowns,  his  own 
base-begotten  copper  ones.  He  is  badged,  and  chained, 
and  stamped  most  infamous.  Be  it  so.  He  wears  in  his 
cap  the  sprig  of  flax ;  his  garland  is  of  hempen  make. 
And  now  we  open  the  book  of  history.  Here  in  a  few 
years  are  twenty  false  half-crown  coiners  ;  but  then  their 
own  crowns  are  gold — crowns,  placed  upon  their  conse- 
crated heads  by  sweet  religion.  Yet  only  to  think  of  the 
copper  they  have  put  off  upon  the  unwary  as  the  true 
metal — as  coined  wealth.  But  then,  again,  they  poured 
it  in  a  shower  upon  thousands,  and  did  not,  with  felon 
aspect,  sidle  to  a  counter,  with  one  base  bit  to  rob  a 
baker  of  a  roll.  And  so,  one  crowned  counterfeitmonger 
shall  be  called  the  Great ;  he  shall  wear  the  laurel,  and 
the  half-crown  felon  bear  the  flax. 

THE    BOOK    OF    GLORY. 

The  leaves  smell  of  rottenness.  And  yet  how  beauti- 
fully they  are  written,  and  flourished  over,  and  illuminated 
with  colours  celestial.     Here  is  a  man,  crowned,  sceptred, 


JERROLD'S    WIT.  151 

robed,  and  called  the  Great.  And  wherefore  ?  Feifniinor 
a  wrong,  he  broke  into  ten  thousand  thousand  houses ; 
and  as  no  divine  constabulary  thought  fit  to  arrest  hirn, 
the  mightiness  of  his  mischief  was  the  measure  of  his 
fame.  He  is  crowned  with  laurel,  and  called  the  Great. 
Surely  there  is  a  school  whereat  angels  might  minister  as 
teachers  ;  a  school  with  only  one  lesson  to  be  taught,  and 
that  the  proper  way  to  spell  that  mis-spelt  syllable 
"  great."  How  many  centuries  have  we  boggled  at  it ; 
the  devils  themselves  enjoying  our  miserable  duncehood ! 

BABYHOOD. 

We  are  profoundly  convinced  that  the  first  year  of  a 
child's  lite  is  the  most  tremendously  important  of  any 
succeeding  twelvemonth,  though  the  creature  shall  num- 
ber threescore  and  ten.  Consider  the  blank  sheet  of 
paper  with  which  the  head  of  every  baby,  according  to 
the  philosopher,  is  lined.  Think  of  it,  and  shudder  when 
you  see  nurses  and  nursemaids  writing  their  pothooks  and 
hangers  upon  it,  as  though  they  wrote  with  rolling-pins, 
or,  at  the  best,  wooden  skewers  !  Poor  human  papyrus  ! 
How  many  after-scratchings  and  cuttlefish-rubbings  it 
shall  take  to  scratch  and  rub  out  the  marks — that,  after 
all,  may  never  wholly  be  effaced,  but  remain  dingy  and 
dark  under  snow-white  hairs  ! 

England's  wooden  walls. 
Did  you  ever,  on  a  summer's  day,  rocked  and  dream- 
ing on  the  shining  sea,  look  upon  those  well-sung  walls, 
until,  the  fancy  working,  they  have  returned  to  their  first 
green  life  ?  The  oak  has  budded,  the  masts  have  been 
hung  and  garlanded  with  leaves!  Again,  when  the  last 
autumn  gust  is  blowing,  the   last  ere  winter  strikes  in, 


152  JERROLD'S    WIT. 

growling  his  rattling  joy,  and  the  oaks,  like  uncrowned 
kings,  stand  all  new,  yet  proud  in  their  disgrace — still 
steaming,  have  you,  then,  changed  oaks  to  ships,  that 
with  a  thought,  the  wood  lias  swum  ?  Once  more :  when 
spring  has  tipped  the  youthful  oaks  with  green,  have  you, 
with  fantasy  leaping  from  your  heart,  wooed  thence  by 
the  simple  odour  of  the  earth,  smelling  of  unblown  vio- 
lets— have  you  felt  the  pagan  thought,  that  haply  with 
these  tender  leaves,  born  of  the  acorn,  child  of  a  parent, 
swimming  in  the  sea,  there  went  forth  some  strange 
intelligence  with  old  forefather  oaks,  exiled  and  floating 
in  the  Indian  main  ? 

THE    GROWTH    OF   A    SHIP. 

This  piece  of  ship  anatomy  was  a  few  months  since  the 
home  of  singing  birds ;  and  its  green  leaves  danced  and 
twinkled  to  their  music.  And  now,  though  stripped  and 
seeming  dead,  it  will  live  a  gallant  life  ;  it  will  feel  a 
noble  sympathy  with  giant  being  ;  it  will  pulsate  to  the 
billow  ;  it  will  be  a  portion  of  a  living  ship  ;  a  beautiful 
and  fearful  thing,  full-breasted,  robed  in  flowing  snow  ;  a 
thing  where  grace  and  mightiness  marry,  and  are  indi- 
visibly  harmonized.  The  growth  of  a  ship  !  The  growth 
of  a  human  thing  !  Why,  it  is  alike.  The  earth  and 
sky — all  the  elements  have  done  their  ministering,  nurs- 
ing the  primal  germ.  And  then  as  the  babe  is  to  the 
man,  so  is  the  timber  to  the  craft.  The  child  becomes  an 
honest  trader,  or  a  sinful  thief.  The  oak  swims  as  a 
merchant,  or  plunders  as  a  buccaneer. 

eve's  first  sin. 
How  fortunate  for  the  success  of  man  that  woman  first 
pressed   her  pearls  in  that   apple  !     For  ever   since — 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  153 

shocked  by  that  original  wrong  inflicted  upon  ns — we 
have  eaten  our  apple  with  a  proud  defiance.  Peeling  it 
with  a  golden  knife,  and  giving  the  mere  outside — the 
tough  dull  rind — to  the  weaker  creature,  we  have  mag- 
nanimously remembered  to  take  all  the  best  of  the  pulp 
to  ourselves. 

THE    STRENGTH    OF    WOMAN. 

Is  it  not  wonderful  that,  down  to  the  present  time, 
women  Lave  really  never  discovered  their  own  tremen- 
dous strength  ?  They  have  only  to  be  of  one  accord, 
and  in  some  hundred  years  at  most,  the  human  race 
would  fade  clean  from  the  earth,  fade  like  an  old  multi- 
plication sum  from  a  school-boy's  slate.  And  this  truth  is 
either  so  profound,  that,  like  a  well  sunk  to  the  anti- 
podes, woman  is  afraid  to  look  into  it — her  little  head 
would  turn  so  giddy  at  the  very  brink — or,  by  some  acci- 
dent, it  is  one  of  the  wells  of  truth  (and  she  has  many) 
that  Rebecca  has  not  yet  discovered. 

THE    BIRTH    OP    A    PRINCE. 

Hark  to  the  guns  !  A  strange  fashion  to  welcome  a 
little  wayfarer  from  the  stars  with  such  thundering 
music.  Unconscious  little  traveller !  but  half  an  hour 
arrived  al  this  caravanserai  from  a  far-off  home  of  mys- 
tery !  An  immortal  jewel  set  in  a  piece  of  clay  ! — An 
eternal  gem  shut  up  for  a  while  in  a  casket  of  red 
earth ! 

THE    SCULPTOR'S    REWARD. 

For  two  years  his  heart  has  heen  pulsating  in  that  bit 
of  marble,  whence  by  degrees  the  wings  of  Cupid  have 
unfolded    themselves — that    crystal     lump    of   stone    has 


154  JERROLD' S  WIT. 

warmed  with  hi3  daily  doings,  into  winged  life.  The  arms 
and  legs  break  from  the  block — the  body  throbs  from  it 
— the  clustering  ringlets  are  shaken  out — and  the  soul 
dawns  upon  the  Cupid's  face,  as  light  steals  upon  a  lily. 

BIRTHDAYS. 

Men  celebrate  their  birthdays  as  only  so  many  victor- 
ies over  Time,  with  not  a  recollection  of  the  many  good 
gentle  hopes  and  thoughts  they  may  have  wounded  or 
destroyed  in  the  battle. 

A    BASE    ONE. 

A  friend  was  one  day  reading  to  Jerrold  an  account 
of  a  case  in  which  a  person  named  Ure  was  reproached 
with  having  suddenly  jilted  a  young  lady  to  whom  he 
was  engaged. 

"  Ure  seems  to  have  turned  out  to  be  a  base  'un,"  said 

Jerrold. 

A  "diamond  in  the  sky." 
A  new  star  is  discovered — another  diamond  upon  the 
frontlet  of  eternity,  and  unborn  millions  are  inheritors  of 
the  glory  of  its  knowledge. 

THE    HEIGHT    OP    DEPRAVITY. 

A  gentleman  of  a  somewhat  ardent  temperament  paid 
great  attention  to  his  pretty  servant  in  the  absence  of  his 
wife.  The  good  wife,  before  leaving  London,  had  made  a 
store  of  pickles  and  preserves,  that  were  to  adorn  her 
table  till  the  following  year.  But  the  husband,  taking 
Time  vigorously  by  the  forelock,  shared  the  sweets  of  the 
year  with  the  temporary  object  of  his  affections.  When 
the  wife  returned,  the  pickle-jars  were  empty. 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  155 

"  Conceive  his  baseness,  my  clear,"  said  the  injured  wife 
to  a  female  friend, — "  he  not  only  destroyed  my  peace  of 
mind,  but  with  a  depravity  that  makes  one  shudder,  he 
actually  ate  all  my  pickles." 

In  the  following  spring  Jerrold  met  the  husband  and 
wife  in  Covent  Garden  Market,  walking  lovingly. 

Jerrold — pointing  to  a  sieve  of  young  walnuts — "  Go- 
ing to  do  anything  in  this  way  this  year  ?  " 

THE    TONGUE    OF    RUMOUR. 

Tubal  Cain  must  have  turned  pale  when  he  first  tried 
the  scale  upon  the  first  trumpet  made  for  Rumour,  who, 
when  the  world  was  thinly  peopled,  could  do  all  she 
willed  by  unassisted  sound  of  mouth. 

A    PERFECT    EXPLANATION. 

Speaking  of  an  ex-publican,  a  friend  said  to  Jerrold  : — 
"  My  dear  fellow,  he  has  no  head." 
"  That's  easily  explained,"  Jerrold  replied  ;  "  he  gave 
it  all  away  with  his  porter." 

A    PUG   NOSE. 

One  of  those  charming,  almost  eatable  pugs ;  dear  little 
knob-,  especially  made  for  men  to  hang  their  hearts,  like 
hats,  upon. 

BOZ'S    BOSWELL. 

Some  friends  were  talking  with  Jerrold  about  an  emi- 
nent literateur,  who  was  a  devoted  admirer,  and  constant 
companion,  of  Charles  Dickens. 

"  In  fact,"  said  one  of  the  friends,  "  he  is  to  Dickens 
what  Boswell  was  to  Johnson." 

"  With   this    difference,"   Jerrold    replied,  "  that  

doesn't  do  the  Boz  well." 


156  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

A    POOR-LAW    OFFICER. 

A  worthy  who  holds  the  coin  of  the  parish  as  "  the 
instrumental  parts  of  his  religion  ; "  a  man  who  can  nose 
a  pauper  as  a  bloodhound  snuffs  a  runaway  African. 

THE    AUTHOR    OF    "  ION." 

"  Well,  Talfourd,"  said  Jerrold,  on  meeting  the  late 
eminent  judge  and  author  one  day  near  Temple  Bar, 
"  have  you  any  more  Ions  in  the  fire  ?  " 

THE    ORDER    OF    LITERATURE. 

Literature  has  its  order  ;  and  bitterly,  most  bitterly,  do 
those  who,  forgetful  of  its  true  dignity,  seek  for  extraneous 
importance  in  the  masquerade  of  fortune — bitterly  do 
they  expiate  the  treason.  For  to  them  it  is  but  a  mas- 
querade ;  a  finery  to  be  worn  too  often  with  an  aching 
heart ;  a  finery  to  be  in  part  paid  for  by  misery  and  moral 
degradation. 

THE    ESTATE    OF    THE    MIND. 

There  are  estates  in  this  merry  England  held  by  single 
owners — estates  which  a  good  horseman  could  scarcely 
cover  between  sunrise  and  sunset.  How  glorious  the 
scenes  !  What  majestic  woods — temples  for  time  itself! 
What  bright  and  bounteous  waters  !  What  hills,  golden 
and  waving  with  the  triumphs  of  the  sower !  What 
varying  richness  of  hill,  dale,  forest,  and  flood  !  And  all 
this  belongs  to  one  man.  But  are  there  no  other  estates 
as  true  (albeit  not  as  tangible)  as  the  earthly  domain  of 
the  earthly  noble?  Give  him  a  few  sheets  of  paper,  and 
in  a  few  days  or  weeks  a  noble  of  another  sort  will  create 
a  domain  which  neither  scrivener  can  convey  nor  usurer 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  157 

seize  upon.  Here  are  woods  never  to  be  overthrown  by 
gambler's  dice — corn-fields  and  meadows  that  defy  the 
ace  of  trumps,  ay.  all  the  honours,  let  them  be  packed 
and  shuffled  with  the  rarest  delight.  Eternity  alone  can 
foreclose  upon  them. 

AN    HONEST   BENEDICT. 

He  loved  his  wife  in  a  plain,  straightforward  fashion  ; 
and  as  he  was  never  lavishly  tender  to  her  before  com- 
pany, there  is  the  greater  reason  to  believe  that  he  was 
neither  savage  nor  silent  to  her  when  alone.  For  some 
married  folks  will  keep  their  love  like  their  jewelry,  for 
the  eyes  of  the  world  ;  thinking  it  too  fine  and  too  pre- 
cious to  wear  every  day  at  their  fireside. 

THE    DIGNITY    OF    LETTERS. 

There  are  men  who  in  their  souls  would  still  wear  the 
liveries  of  titled  wealth  ;  men  who  would  degrade  and 
falsify  the  glorious  attributes  which  God  has  bestowed 
upon  them,  by  aping  the  adventitious  distinctions  of  the 
mere  purse.  It  is  not  enough  for  them  that  they  are 
endowed  with  the  noblest,  the  proudest  quality  of  the 
human  intellect — a  power  to  arrest  and  dignify  the  mind 
of  the  world — that  they  are  enabled  to  hold  a  glorious 
communion  with  their  species,  making  to  themselves  in 
ten  thousand  hearts,  and  from  the  solitude  of  their  cham- 
bers awakening,  the  finest  sympathies  of  life  :  this  glori- 
ous  prerogative  is  not  sufficient ;  no,  they  must  doff  their 
Prosperous  gown,  lay  down  the  charming-rod,  and  become 
— men  of  fashion  ! 

A.  young   lady's  d INSCRIPTION    of  a  storm  at  sea. 
The  sun    went  down   like  a  bale   of  dull  fire,  in  the 


158  JERROLD' S  WIT. 

midst  of  smearing  clouds  of  red-currant  jam.  The  wind 
began  to  whistle  worse  than  any  of  the  lowest  orders  of 
society  in  a  shilling  gallery.  Every  wave  was  suddenly 
as  big  and  high  as  Primrose  Hill.  The  cords  of  the  ship 
snapped  like  bad  stay-laces.  No  best  Genoa  velvet  was 
ever  blacker  than  the  firmament,  and  not  even  the  voices 
of  the  ladies  calling  for  the  stewardess,  were  heard  above 
the  orchestral  crashing  of  the  elements. 

A    RUNAWAY   KNOCK. 

Douglas  Jerrold  describing  a  very  dangerous  illness 
from  which  his  daughter  had  just  recovered,  said — "Ay, 
sir,  it  was  a  runaway  knock  at  Death's  door,  I  can  assure 
you." 

woman's  protection. 
How  beautifully  has  Nature,  or  Fashion,  or  whatever 
it  may  be,  ordained  that  woman  should  never  be  without 
pins.  Even  as  Nature  benevolently  guards  the  rose  with 
thorns,  so  does  she  endow  woman  with  pins ;  a  sharp 
truth  not  all  unknown  to  the  giddy  and  frolicsome. 

A    HAPPY    SUGGESTION. 

When  Jenny  Lind  gave  a  concert  to  the  Consumption 
Hospital,  the  proceeds  of  which  concert  amounted  to 
£1,776  los.,  and  were  to  be  devoted  to  the  completion  of 
the  building,  Jerrold  suggested  that  the  new  part  of  the 
hospital  should  be  called  "  The  Nightingale's  Wing." 

A    CONSOLING   THOUGHT. 

There  is  no  trouble,  however  great,  that  has  not  in  the 
core  of  its  very  greatness  some  drop  of  comfort ;  for  the 
human  heart,  like  a  bee,  will  gather  honey  from  poison- 
ous blossoms. 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  159 

LOCAL    ACTS. 

The  statutes  are  too  often  the  beautiful  fictions,  whilst 
local  acts  are  the  wicked  realities  of  English  government. 
The  law  of  the  land  is  a  fine,  gracious,  humanizing 
presence  ;  but,  unfortunately,  there  is  a  smart,  shrivelled, 
malign-eyed  imp,  called  Local  Act,  active  and  most  potent 
in  all  sorts  of  mischief. 

THE    DRUM    DRUMMED    OUT. 

Mighty  is  the  drum,  raising  as  it  does  a  lust  of  glory 
in  the  Christian's  heart,  stirring  him  to  slaughter,  and 
making  bloodshed  beautiful ;  sending  him  forth  a  terrible 
reaper  in  the  fields  of  carnage,  and  smearing  him  with 
human  gore  as  earth's  best  painting !  And  yet  the  drum 
— though  beat  by  a  destroying  angel — sounds  not  so 
musical  to  us  as  the  panting  and  snorting  of  the  railway- 
engine.  The  piston  is  a  more  noble  weapon  than  the 
sword — the  whirl  and  rush  and  thunder  of  the  train 
grander,  more  truly  sublime,  more  suggestive  of  all  that 
ennobles  man  in  his  purest  thoughts  and  deepest  sympa- 
thies towards  his  fellow,  than  the  tramp  and  measured 
step  of  glistening  thousands,  shaking  the  earth  they  too 
soon  are  about  to  defile  with  fire  and  sword. 

A    LIFE    OF   REPOSE. 

An  existence  to  which  the  tongue  of  woman  becomes 
silent  as  echo,  when  not  spoken  to.  Dear  Echo !  that, 
lady-like,  always  has  the  last  word. 

A    PAUPKR. 

What  a  concentration  of  all  human  infamy  is  in  the 
word!      What  an  object  for   English   respectability  to 


1G0  JEBROLD'S   WIT. 

shun,  to  flee,  to  pluck  its  purple  robe  from,  to  look  warily 
at  its  fine  linen  ruffle,  lest  the  leper  should  have  jostled 
against  it  and  left  some  mortal  abomination  there  ! 

THE    ENGINEER. 

The  engineer  is  in  our  eyes  something  more  human- 
izing than  the  soldier :  borne  onward  by  the  sublime 
energy  of  the  thing  of  his  creation ;  harnessing,  so  to 
speak,  the  very  elements  to  his  use,  and  checking  and 
controlling  them  as  might  some  magician  of  a  fairy  tale, 
he  sweeps  from  place  to  place,  distributing  in  his  way  all 
the  gentler  influences  of  civilization,  and  knitting  more 
closely  together  the  family  of  man,  by  teaching  them  the 
strength,  the  value,  and  what  is  more  than  all,  the  abound- 
ing peacefulness  of  a  wise  union. 

THE    VIRTUES    OF    THE    KITCHEN. 

In  this  our  harlequin-coloured  life,  no  young  lady 
knows  to  what  far  land  fate  may  call  her.  The  first 
mandarin  of  the  first  peacock's  feather — the  sultan  of 
both  the  Turkeys — the  emperor  of  Morocco — each  may 
be  caught  by  his  national  dish ;  and  therefore  no  young 
woman's  education  should  be  thought  complete  who  had 
not  made  a  Cook's  voyage  round  the  globe. 

THE    VIRTUES    OF    BRASS. 

The  sympathies  of  human  nature  are  mysteriously 
touched  by  the  sounds  of  a  trumpet;  brass  is  the  greatest 
essential  to  human  civilization.  The  trumpet  is  at  once 
the  voice  of  pomp  and  of  imposture.  It  cries  forth  the 
glory  of  a  crown  and  publishes  the  whereabout  of  a  fire- 
cater.  It  is  in  its  excellence  the  music  that  keeps  the 
civilized  world  together.     It  has  a  voice  that  calls  upon 


JERROLD'S    WIT.  161 

all  hearts,  whether  the  thing  to  be  seen  is  a  royal  proces- 
sion or  a  wax-work.  What  would  be  a  monarchy  with- 
out its  trumpets  ?     Verily,  a  dumb  peacock. 

THE    CHARM    OF    PROGRESS. 

We  would  go  no  step  backward,  but  many  in  advance, 
our  faith  still  increasing  in  the  enlarged  sympathies  of 
men  ;  in  the  reverence  which  man  has  learned,  and  is  still 
learning,  to  pay  towards  the  nature  of  his  fellow-men;  in 
the  deep  belief  that  whatever  change  may  and  must  take 
place  in  the  social  fabric,  we  have  that  spirit  of  wisdom 
and  tolerance  waxing  strong  among  us, — so  strong  that 
the  fabric  will  be  altered  and  repaired  brick  by  brick  and 
stone  by  stone.  Meanwhile  the  scaffolding  is  fast  growing 
up  about  it. 

TRIUMPH    OVER    EVIL. 

We  are  rewarded  for  every  triumph  we  make  over 
temptation.  I  will  suppose  there  are  many  who  have 
struggled  against  the  vanity  of  vain  pleasures  ;  many  who 
have  put  down  evil  thoughts  with  a  strong  will  ;  many 
who,  after  a  long,  and  it  may  be,  an  uncertain  conflict 
with  the  seduction  of  the  world,  at  length  have  triumphed. 
I  will  put  it  to  them,  whether,  when  they  have  combated 
and  so  prevailed  against  the  evil,  whether  their  hearts 
have  not  softened  and  melted  within  them,  whether  they 
have  not  felt  within  their  bosoms  a  seraphic  influence  ? 
They  have  so  felt ;  and  so  it  will  ever  be.  No  sooner 
shall  they  have  driven  from  them  the  tempting  demon  of 
pride,  of  vanity,  of  anger — no  sooner  shall  the  devil  have 
left  them,  than  angels  will  come  and  minister  unto  them. 

THE    MUSIC    OF    THE    NURSERY. 

It  is  an  astonishing  truth — a  truth  little  considered  by 
11 


162  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

man,  when  in  his  bridegroom  lust  he  stands  before  the 
altar,  for  the  moment  manipulating  the  ring  end  of  the 
chain  ere  he  fixes  it,  that  there  is  no  household  noise  like 
the  noise  of  a  baby  when  determined  to  make  a  ruffian 
of  itself.  There  was  not  a  macaw  in  Noah's  ark  that 
could  not  have  been  silenced  by  Shem's  baby,  had  the 
little  one  resolved  to  test  its  screams. 

STEAM. 

Let  the  man  who  lives  by  his  daily  sweat  pause  in  his 
toil,  and  with  his  foot  upon  his  sj)ade,  watch  the  white 
smoke  that  floats  in  the  distance  ;  listen  to  the  lessen- 
ing thunder  of  the  engine,  that,  instinct  with  Vulcanian 
life,  has  rushed,  devouring  space  before  it.  That  little 
curl  of  smoke  hangs  in  the  air,  a  thing  of  blessed  promise  ; 
that  roar  of  the  engine  is  the  melody  of  hope  to  unborn 
generations.  But  now,  the  digger  of  the  soil  looks  mood- 
ily at  that  vapour,  and  his  heart  is  festering  with  the  curse 
upon  the  devil  Steam  ;  that  fiend  that  grinds  his  bones 
beneath  the  wheels  of  British  Juggernaut.  Poor  crea- 
ture !  The  seeming  demon  is  a  beneficial  presence,  that, 
in  the  ripeness  of  time,  will  work  regeneration  of  the 
hopes  of  men. 

man's  discontent. 

From  the  very  discontent  and  fantasticalness  of  his  na- 
ture, man  is  apt  to  look  backward  at  what  he  thinks  the 
lost  Paradise  of  another  age.  He  affects  to  snuff  the 
odour  of  its  fruits  and  flowers,  and,  with  a  melancholy 
shaking  of  the  head,  sees,  or  thinks  he  sees,  the  flashing 
of  the  fiery  swords  that  guard  them  ;  and  then,  in  the 
restlessness  of  his  heart,  in  the  peevishness  and  discontent 
of  his  soul,  he  says  all  sorts  of  bitter  things  of  the  genera- 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  163 

tion  he  lias  fallen  amongst,  and  from  the  vanished  glory 
of  the  past,  predicts  increasing  darkness  for  the  future. 
Happily  the  prophesying  cannot  be  true ;  but  then  there 
is  a  sort  of  comfort  in  the  waywardness  of  discontent — at 
times,  a  soothing  music  to  the  restlessness  of  the  soul,  in 
the  deep  bass  of  hearty  grumbling. 

THE    BEST    JUDGE. 

A  lady  said  to  her  husband,  in  Jerrold's  presence, 
"  My  dear,  you  certainly  want  some  new  trousers." 
"  No,  I  think  not,"  replied  the  husband. 
"  Well,"  Jerrold  interposed,   "  I   think  the  lady  who 
always  wears  them  ought  to  know." 

nature's  clockwork. 

Beautiful  is  the  regularity,  the  clockwork  of  nature ; 
and  certain  and  severe  the  penalty  on  man  for  playing 
tricks  with  it.  Though  Bacchus  himself  lend  you  -his 
thyrsus,  overnight,  to  advance  the  hands  and  post  on  the 
hours,  it  is  ten  to  one  that  in  the  morning  you  will  have 
a  smart  knock  upon  the  head  for  your  boldness ;  and 
even  if  the  knock  be  delayed — why,  it  is  only  deferred, 
that  it  may  pay  itself  with  interest — all  the  knocks  coming 
down  in  after-years  as  double  ones ;  for  Time,  when  it 
trusts  at  all,  takes  huge  interest  of  intemperance. 

TEA-TABLE    TALK. 

Turning  the  tea-tables  upon  man. 

A    JOKE    WITH    A    TAX-GATHERER. 

The  tax-gatherer  once  said  to  Jerrold — 
"  Sir,  I'm  determined  to  put  a  man  in  the  house." 
Jerrold  replied,  with  a  laugh,  "  Couldn't  you  make  it  a 
woman  ?  " 


164  JEREOLD'S  WIT. 

PATERNAL  HONOURS. 

People  sometimes  speak  of  a  baby  as  if  it  were  a  sort 
of  medal  bestowed  by  fate  upon  a  man  for  early  hours 
and  good  conduct. 

THE    MEASURE    OF    A    BRAIN. 

One  afternoon,  when  Jerrold  was  in  his  garden  at  Put- 
ney, enjoying  a  glass  of  claret,  a  friend  called  upon  him. 
The  conversation  ran  on  a  certain  dull  fellow,  whose 
wealth  made  him  prominent  at  that  time. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jerrold,  drawing  his  finger  round  the  edge 
of  his  wineglass,  "  that's  the  range  of  his  intellect,  only  it 
had  never  anything  half  so  good  in  it." 

THE    TIMIDITY    OF    BEAUTY. 

It's  a  great  comfort  for  timid  men,  that  beauty,  like  the 
elephant,  doesn't  know  its  strength.  Otherwise,  how  it 
would  trample  upon  us  ! 

THE    ZODIAC    CLUB. 

On  the  occasion  of  starting  a  convivial  club,  somebody 
proposed  that  it  should  consist  of  twelve  members,  and 
be  called  "  The  Zodiac,"  each  member  to  be  named  after 
a  sign. 

"  And  what  shall  I  be  ?  "  inquired  a  somewhat  solemn 
man,  who  was  afraid  that  his  name  would  be  forgotten. 

Jerrold. — "  Oh,  we'll  bring  you  in  as  the  weight  in 
Libra." 

CARLYLE. 

"  Here,"  said  Jerrold,  having  objected  to  Carlyle,  that 
he  did  not  give  definite  suggestions  for  the  improvement 
of  the  age  which  he  rebuked — "  here  is  a  man  who  beats 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  165 

a  big  drum  under  my  windows,  and  when  I  come  running 
down  stairs,  has  nowhere  for  me  to  go." 

PATIENCE. 

Patience  is  a  virtue,  peculiarly  a  female  virtue ;  for 
though  it  is  greatly  encouraged,  it  meets  with  so  little 
reward. 

RED    REPUBLICANISM. 

A  wild  republican  said,  profanely,  that  Louis  Blanc 
was  next  to  our  Saviour. 

"  On  which  side  ?  "  Jerrold  asked. 

A    DRINKER. 

The  man  had  a  loose,  potatile  look.  It  was  plain  that 
his  face,  like  hothouse  fruit,  had  ripened  under  a  glass. 

AN   AWFUL    WEAPON. 

Somebody  told  Jerrold  that  a  friend  of  his,  a  prolific 
writer,  whom  we  will  call  Scissors,  was  about  to  dedicate 
a  book  to  him. 

"  Ah  !  "  replied  Jerrold,  with  mock  gravity,  "  that's  an 
awful  weapon  Scissors  has  in  his  hands  !  " 

THE    BERTH    OF    A    PRINCE. 

Jerrold  was  at  a  party  when  the  Park  guns  announced 
the  birth  of  a  prince.  "  How  they  do  powder  these 
babies  ! "  Jerrold  exclaimed. 

RAPID    PAYMENT. 

"Is  tin;  legacy  to  be  paid  down  on  the  nail  ?"  some- 
body asked  Jerrold,  referring  to  some  celebrated  will 
case. 

"  On  the  coffin-nail,"  Jerrold  replied. 


166  JEKROLD'S   WIT. 

RAILWAY    V.    CANNON. 

We  have  always  been  of  the  opinion  that  a  hundred- 
weight of  iron,  expended  on  a  railroad,  was  worth  a 
hundred  times  the  value  of  the  same  metal  used  up  in 
forty-pounders. 

A    PLAT    WRITTEN    TO    ORDER. 

On  being  told  that  a  recently-produced  play  had  been 
done  to  order,  Jerrold  replied — 

"  Ah  !  and  it  strikes  me  it  will  still  be  done  to  a  good 
many  orders." 

• 

A    HAPPY    COUPLE. 

They  were  proud,  delighted  with  their  chains.  And  is 
it  not  a  charming  sight — a  touching  matter  to  think  of — 
to  see  married  love,  like  the  thief  in  the  "  Beggar's  Opera," 
dancing  to  the  music  of  its  own  fetters  ? 

YOKED    BIOGRAPHERS. 

Carlyle  and  a  much  inferior  man  being  coupled  by 
some  sapient  reviewer,  as  biographers,  Jerrold  ex- 
claimed— 

"  Those  two  joined  !  You  cannot  plough  with  an  ox 
and  an  ass  !  " 

PROPOSED    EPITAPH    FOR    CHARLES    KNIGHT. 

Good  Night ! 

THE    QUEEN   IN    STATE. 

Her  Majesty  glistened  with  diamonds,  as  if  she  had 
walked  out  of  the  centre  of  the  sun  ;  and  as  for  her  voice, 
it  was  as  sweet  and  as  clear  as  melted  sugar  candy. 


JERROLD'S    WIT.  167 

COMMERCIAL    GLORY. 

A  glory  that  wins  the  noblest  conquests  for  the  family 
of  man,  for  its  victories  are  bloodless. 

MATRIMONY    IN    THE    CRADLE. 

When  one  reads  of  the  baby  girls  and  boys  sent  yearly 
into  the  world,  spangling  the  earth  plentifully  as  daisies, 
it  is  a  curious  speculation  to  think  how  the  wife  lies  in 
the  cradle,  thoughtless  of  the  tyrant  who  is  destined  to 
enslave  her ;  and  how  the  despot  himself  takes  his  morn- 
ing pap,  his  white  sheet-6f-paper  of  a  mind  yet  unwritten 
with  the  name  of  her  who  may  have  in  the  far  years  to 
sit  up  for  him  ;  sitting  and  watching  with  the  resolution 
to  tell  him  what  she  thinks  of  him,  when,  at  unseasonable 
hour,  he  shall  return  zig-zag  home  ! 

THE    SPIRIT    OF    THE    DAY. 

The  growing  spirit  of  our  day  is  the  associative  spirit. 
Men  have  gradually  recognized  the  great  social  truth 
vital  in  the  old  fable  of  the  bundle  of  sticks,  and  have 
begun  to  make  out  of  what  would  otherwise  be  individual 
weakness,  combined  strength. 

RIGHT. 

Right  is  a  plant  of  slow  growth.  You  can't  tell  how 
long  Justice  herself  was  a  baby  at  the  breast  of  Truth, 
before  Justice  could  run  alone. 

A    GRAVE    REFLECTION. 

How  small  it  is  for  what  it  has  to  hold  !  Nothing 
packs  so  much,  so  closely  as  a  grave,  Lotty.  Nothing  in 
the  world  so  big,  nothing  80  fine,  that  it  will  not  swallow 


168  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

All  Job's  camels  and  flocks,  when  Job  flourished  again, — 
nay,  all  Solomon's  temple — in  so  far  as  Job  and  Solomon 
were  touched,  all  went  into  a  hole  called  a  grave  ;  a  hole 
that,  always  swallowing,  is  for  ever  empty ! 

HAPPINESS. 

Happiness  grows  at  our  own  firesides,  and  is  not  to  be 
picked  in  strangers'  gardens. 

FAIRY   TALES. 

Nothing  can  be  truer  than  fairy  wisdom.  It  is  true  as 
sunbeams. 

THE    WHEEL    OP    FORTUNE. 

Fair  is  the  morn,  happy  the  bride  and  bridegroom. 
They  depart  rejoicingly  upon  their  pilgrimage,  one  money- 
bag between  them.  How  the  sun  laughs  ;  and  how  the 
very  hedge-flowers  smile  and  twinkle  as  the  pilgrims  go 
onward,  onward !  The  money-bag  hangs  over  the  wheel. 
Lovelier  and  lovelier  shines  the  day,  and  bride  and  bride- 
groom, lapped  in  sweet  contentedness  of  heart,  see  and 
think  of  nothing  but  themselves.  They  are  all  alone, 
alone  with  their  happiness.  The  flowers  beneath  them 
send  an  incense-offering  to  their  blissful  hearts  ;  the 
glorious  skylark,  ever  above  their  heads,  scatters  music 
down  upon  them.  The  day  wears ;  the  sinking  sun  glows 
with  a  solemn  good-night ;  and  the  hearts  of  the  lovers 
are  touched  and  softened,  yea,  glorified  by  the  hour.  The 
resting-place  is  reached.  The  wheel  stops  !  The  money- 
bag is  light ;  the  money-bag  has  a  hole  in  it ;  for  still  and 
still,  turning  and  turning,  the  hole  in  the  money-bag  has 
been  ground  by  the  wheel.  And  thus,  thoughtless,  care- 
less of  the  future,  insolent  in  our  wealth,  we  may  travel 


o 


JEKROLD'S   WIT.  169 

onward,  the  hole  in  the  money-bag,  whilst  we  sport  and 
jest,  and  play  the  wanton — the  hole  in  the  money-bag 
being  worn  by  Fortune's  Wheel ! 

THE    WORKHOUSE    TEST. 

What  may  be  called  a  workhouse  test  is  very  often  like 
the  test  of  an  air-pump — an  invention  to  test  the  duration 
of  vitality,  and  not  to  aid  it. 

woman's  mission. 
Woman's  mission  may  be  admirably  indicated  at  a 
husband's  fireside ;  in  the  rearing  of  children  ;  in  those 
offices  ot  household  wisdom,  those  noiseless  unobtrusive 
activities  of  domestic  life,  that  make  the  home  of  the  man 
a  temple  consecrated  to  the  affections  ;  a  place  of  quiet, 
cheerful  happiness,  let  the  world  flounder  and  bluster  as 
it  may  without.  This  we  take  to  be  a  part  of  woman's 
mission,  whether  the  woman  rule  in  a  palace  or  sit  at 
her  own-swept  hearth. 

A    TRUE    PATRIOT. 

Talk  of  your  O'Connells  and  Smith  O'Briens  !  The 
truly  great  illustrations  of  Ireland's  genius  are  men  like 
Dargan — men  who  work  more  than  they  talk  ;  who  prom- 
ise sparingly  and  perform  prodigiously  ;  who  appeal  to 
no  prejudice  and  rouse  no  evil  passion  ;  but  go  calmly  on 
with  the  daily  task,  offering  everywhere  the  example  of 
industry  covered  with  success,  and  developing  on  all  sides 
the  energies  of  the  people  and  the  resources  of  the  soil. 

THE    REWARD    OF    SELF-SACRIFICE. 

Luther,  in   the  depth  of  his    disappointment,  declared 
the  whole  Protestant  world   to  be  nothing  in  action  but 


170  JERROLD'S    WIT. 

the  Ten  Commandments  reversed.  Had  he  known  the 
greatness  of  the  struggle,  with  the  smallness  of  the 
reward,  he  would,  he  says,  have  remained  a  monk.  And 
all  political  and  social  history  from  time  to  time  shows 
the  same  spectacle :  the  old  reformer,  grey-headed  in  the 
cause  of  truth  and  justice,  lamenting,  almost  at  the  last, 
the  short-comings  of  stiff-necked  generations.  The  man 
has  hoped  and  looked  for  self-sacrifice — total  abnegation 
of  all  that  is  personal,  and  sees  nothing  but  a  wind-puffed, 
strutting  vanity.  He  has  yearned  for  simple  earnest  men, 
and  found  human  peacocks. 

CORRUPTION    IN    A    DOCKYARD. 

Corruption  is  as  common  to,  in  fact  a  part  of,  a  dock- 
yard, as  corruption  is  common  to  a  dead  dog,  with  the 
full  sun  of  patronage  breeding  all  sorts  of  crawling  things 
for  the  benefit  of  place  and  political  power.  Corruption 
is  the  common  character  of  dockyards,  even  as  vilest 
odour  is  the  common  character  of  common  pole-cats. 

THE    IRISH   PRIESTHOOD. 

In  speaking  of  the  classes  of  men  from  which  the  Irish 
priesthood  are  chosen,  they  have  been  called  hodmen. 
Truly  they  are  hodmen,  with  this  further  evil  about  them, 
that  they  never  seem  so  happy  as  when,  in  their  function 
of  hodmen,  they  are  helping  to  build  some  new  Tower 
of  Babel. 

THE    ANATOMY    OF    FUNERALS. 

A  man's  funeral  may  be  morally  anatomized,  even  as 

a  man's  dead  clay  may  be  materially  dissected.     After 

this  fashion  a  dead  duke  may  in  his  ashes  be  almost   as 

•   useful  as  the  duke  alive  ;    his  Egyptian  sarcophagus  as 

instructive  as  his  robes  and  ermine. 


JEEROLD'S  WIT.  171 

A    HAPPY   BRIDE. 

How  unsuspecting,  beautiful  she  looks,  in  her  tears  and 
smiles,  April  gliding  into  May,  as  the  bride  turns  from 
the  altar  to  cross  the  threshold,  a  rejoicing  married 
woman ! 

THE    TREE    OF   KNOWLEDGE. 

A  tree  that  should  yield  a  common  food  to  all  men. 
Taxes  on  knowledge  are  so  many  government  dragons 
chained  about  the  tree  ;  monsters  to  guard  the  very  fruit 
that,  by  the  confession  of  the  state,  is  so  sustaining,  so 
purifying,  and  having  in  it  even  celestial,  immortal 
flavour. 

USELESS    M.P.'s. 

They  are  like  clucking  fowls  upon  chalk  eggs ;  they  sit 
week  after  week,  but  hatch  nothing ;  and  having  eaten 
daily  barley,  will  doubtless  cluck  to  sit  again. 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  BROADSHEET. 

After  all,  the  newspaper  is  the  real  romance.  The  re- 
porter deals  with  droller  materials  than  the  novelist. 

A  FELLOW  OF  THE  COLLEGE  OF  QUACKS. 

His  patient  dies.  What  says  the  quack  ?  "  Die  !  of 
course.  He  took  my  pills,  but  forgot  the  great  principle : 
he  didn't  take  enough." — "  Enough,  doctor !  Why  he 
took — yes,  five  hundred." — "  What  of  that  ?  He  should 
have  taken  a  thousand." — "  Now  I  think  again,  it  was — 
yes,  it  was  a  thousand  he  took." — "  Only  one  thousand  ! 
Only  one !  If  he  had  really  wished  to  recover,  he  should 
have  taken  two" 


172  JEREOLD'S  WIT. 

* 

PIGS    AS    SEEN    BY   THE    CHURCH. 

Pigs  were  created,  not  to  yield  bacon  for  ploughmen, 
but  for  the  higher  purpose  of  supplying  little  pigs  to 
parsons. 

THE    SWINISH    MULTITUDE. 

In  the  heyday  of  my  time  that  was  the  name  for  the 
nobodies  ;  but  where  are  the  pigs  now  ?  The  swine  seem 
to  have  been  raised  upon  their  hind-legs,  and  are  called 
the  masses — the  million!  The  pigs  have  absolutely 
become  the  people  ;  though  certainly  not  a  few  of  them 
are  still  made  to  wear  rings  in  their  noses,  for  fear  they 
should  grub  up  by  the  very  roots,  the  British  oak,  the 
tree  of  the  constitution. 

NOISE    AND    MOONSHINE. 

We  have  heard  of  a  man,  reasonable  in  all  other  mat- 
ters, who  declared  that  he  had  been  ruined,  all  his  vast 
property  swallowed,  by  an  earthquake.  But  when  asked 
by  strangers,  "What  earthquake— and  where?"  the 
ruined  man,  with  a  deeper  look  of  injury  upon  him, 
would  reply  confidentially,  "That's  it,  that's  just  it. 
That  earthquake,  sir,  was  most  shamefully  hushed  up." 
In  the  like  way  the  approach  of  an  old  Tory's  democracy 
is  very  quiet ;  it  may,  like  the  sign  of  the  Red  Lion, 
have  a  very  fierce  aspect ;  but  somehow  it  never  roars, 
and  it  never  strides  on. 

JOHN    BULL. 

Somehow  John  Bull  seems  to  have  so  broad  a  bads, 
with  such  a  wholesome  steadying  quantity  of  lead  in  him, 
that  he  may  be  likened  to  a  well-known  Dutch  toy,  that, 


JERROLD'S    WIT.  173 

knock  it  to  the  right  or  left,  or  forwards,  is  sure  funda- 
mentally to  right  itself,  after  a  little  rocking  and  rolling  ; 
coming  up  and  seriously  sitting  squat,  the  while  it  shows 
the  same  jolly  countenance,  the  same  red  and  white  in  its 
cheeks,  and  the  like  laugh  at  its  mouth  and  twinkle  at  its 
eye  ;  in  fact,  in  all  its  aspect  the  same  erect  thing  as 
before  the  blow  that  sent  it  rolling  and  tumbling. 

THE    BISHOPS. 

"We  would  relieve  them  from  the  duty  of  sitting  in 
Parliament.  We  would  take  them  from  the  House  of 
Lords,  that  they  might  Avholly  devote  themselves  to  the 
House  of  wu  Lord.  And  this  removal  is  but  a  matter 
of  time.  The  men,  the  eleet,  the  chosen  of  the  world, 
whose  sacred  task  it  is  to  teach  their  erring  fellows  the 
hollowness,  the  worthlessness  of  the  world's  possessions, 
against  the  besetting  care  for  earthly  substance — the  very 
men  who,  with  golden  balance,  should  weigh  our  future 
hopes  against  our  present  lucre,  these  men  are  foremost 
to  higgle  and  battle  for  the  advantage,  and,  with  the 
eagerness  and  hubbub  of  chapmen  of  a  market,  to  grasp 
the  market  profit !  Truly,  thus  worn,  the  black  apron, 
like  charity,  covers  a  multitude  of  sins. 

THE    ESTABLISHED    CHURCH. 

We  know  not — and  we  say  it  with  grief,  but  with  a 
profound  conviction  of  the  necessity  of  every  man  giving 
fullest  utterance  to  his  thoughts — we  know  not  in  this 
world  of  ours,  in  this  social  out-of-door  masquerade,  a 
more  dreamy  short-coming,  a  greater  disappointment  to 
the  business  and  bosoms  of  men,  than  the  Established 
Church.  Its  essence  is  self-denial ;  its  foundations  are  in 
humility,  in  poverty.     Its  practice  is  self-aggrandizement 


174  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

and  money-getting.  Could  the  Apostles,  in  their  old- 
world  attire,  enter  a  London  church,  the  beadle,  with  a 
big  look,  would  waive  them  from  the  pews,  and  motion 
them  down  upon  the  benches.  And  the  Apostles  would 
sit  there,  pitying  the  sleek  pluralist  in  the  pulpit,  to 
whom  even  Jacob's  ladder  has  its  rungs  encased  with 
purple  velvet  to  make  the  footing  softer. 

MR.    DRDMMOND'S    VIEW    OF    THE    SPHERES. 

What,  to  the  philosophic  organ,  is  the  music  of  the 
spheres?  Why,  no  other  than  Tantara-rara-rogues  all ! 
It  was  in  the  original  Adam  ;  not  entirely  composed — not 
he — of  fine  red  earth,  but  with  a  liberal  admixture  of 
mud  to  temper  his  clay,  and  make  him  a  thorough-going 
rascal.  As  for  Truth — if  she  ever  lived — she  has  been 
long  ago  drowned  in  her  own  well ;  and  only  taints  and 
makes  noisome  the  waters,  that  fools,  in  her  name,  draw 
up  in  her  long-relinquished  bucket.  Truth  has  taken 
refuge  in  the  parish  pump,  and  only  appears — and  that 
by  proxy — when  men  are  pumped  upon. 

THE    GAME    OF    CHANCE. 

Of  all  diseases  none  so  virulent,  so  fatal,  as  the  fever 
of  chance.  And  the  pestilence  walks  alike  on  the  course 
of  Ascot,  bosom  companion  of  titled  men,  as  it  crouches 
even  in  doorways,  bosom  companion  of  beggars. 

DEAD    WARRIORS. 

Great  warriors  fight  from  their  graves.  Let  war  rage, 
and  the  very  memory  of  a  Wellington  would  be  to  us  as 
half  an  army,  his  immortal  spirit  flashing  along  our 
ranks,  and  the  battle-flag  speaking  with  words  whose 
every  syllable  would  be  the  pulse  of  the  nation's  heart. 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  175 

A    LESSON    TO    WOULD-BE    ORATORS. 

It  is  told  of  a  would-be  French  orator  that,  to  give  him 
confidence  in  the  hour  of  trial,  he  was  wont  to  rehearse 
his  maiden  speech  in  his  garden  to  a  large  assembly  of 
cabbages.  And  he  got  on  admirably.  Calmly  consider- 
ing the  lines  of  cabbages,  and  by  a  slight  operation  of  the 
fancy,  convincing  himself  that  every  cabbage  was  a  sol- 
emn senator,  he  would  pour  forth  his  speech  as  freely 
and  as  limpidly  as  his  gardener  would  pour  out  water. 
At  length  the  hour  of  trial  came,  and  our  orator  rose,  not 
to  cabbages,  but  to  a  human  assembly.  His  lips  were 
glued  together ;  his  heart  beat  thick  ;  he  was  icy-cold  and 
red  hot ;  and  at  length  confessed  to  his  inability  of  speech 
in  these  words  : — "  Gentlemen,  I  perceive  that  men  are 
not  cabbages."  A  wholesome  moral,  this,  for  stump- 
orators  ! 

THE    INSTINCT    OF    RIGHT. 

When  they  themselves  know  it  not,  men's  hearts  will 
work ;  a  sense  of  right  will  sometimes  steal  upon  their 
sleep,  and  an  instinct  of  goodness  will  gush  forth  like 
silver  water  from  the  rock. 

FULL-BODIED    TEA. 

A  gentleman,  when  the  cholera  was  raging  in  London, 
complained  to  his  landlady  that  the  water  with  which  she 
made  his  tea,  had  a  strong  and  unwholesome  flavour. 

u  Well,  sir,"  said  the  landlady,  "  I  can  only  account  for 
it  by  the  graveyard  at  the  back  of  the  house.  The 
spring  must  pass  through  it !  " 

The  lodger  rushed  frantically  from  the  house,  and 
presently  met  Jerrold,  to  whom  he  communicated  his 
trouble. 


176  JEKROLD'S  WIT. 

Jerrold. — "  I  suppose  your  landlady  thought  you  liked 
your  tea  like  your  port — with  plenty  of  body  in  it !  " 

MORAL    BLACKNESS. 

Certain  constituencies  are  to  certain  boroughs  what 
certain  maggots  are  to  certain  cheeses — born  of  corrup- 
tion ; — they  live  and  wriggle  in  it.  Bribery  is  their 
inheritance ;  and  to  be  bought  and  sold,  their  birthright. 
The  white  slave  who  sells  himself  has  this  distinction 
from  the  negro  bondsman  of  Virginia — he  drives  his  own 
bargain,  and  driving  it,  wears  his  black  with  a  difference 
— being  black  inside. 

ELECTION    AGENTS. 

Agents  of  all  sorts  abound  in  merry  England  !  Bold, 
unscrupulous,  Avary,  jocose  fellows — for  there  is  a  great 
variety — all  of  them,  after  their  own  peculiar  style,  able 
to  manage  an  election  ;  potent  to  bring  in — stating  the 
price  in  advance,  and  that  too  within  a  hatful  of  hundreds 
— "  their  man."  Now,  these  adroit  thriving  chapmen, 
these  purchasers  of  free-born  Britons  for  the  market  of 
Westminster — are  the  continuing  curse  of  the  boroughs 
they  trade  in.  They  study  the  morals  of  the  constituency 
as  a  matter  of  business  ;  or  rather,  they  contemplate  the 
condition  of  the  voters  as  the  election  approaches,  with 
feelings  akin  to  the  breeders  of  cattle,  as  the  Baker-street 
exhibition  comes  on. 

PEACE. 

We  love  peace,  as  we  abhor  pusillanimity ;  but  not 
peace  at  any  price.  There  is  a  peace  more  destructive  of 
the  manhood  of  living  man  than  war  is  destructive  of  his 
material  body.     Chains  are  worse  than  bayonets. 


JERROLD'S    WIT.  177 

A    COINCIDENCE. 

A  celebrated  barrister — a  friend  witb  whom  Jerrold 
loved  to  jest — entered  a  certain  club-room  where  Jerrold 
and  some  friends  were  enjoying  a  cigar.     The  barrister 
was  in  an  excited  state,  and  exclaimed — 
"  I  have  just  met  a  scoundrelly  barrister  !  " 
Jerrold,  interrupting. — "  What  a  coincidence  !  " 

SNAPDRAGONS. 

Human,  worldly  life  is  a  game  at  snapdragons  !  Reader, 
cast  up  a  few  of  your  acquaintance  on  your  fingers  and 
thumbs,  and  say, — have  we  not  propounded  a  truth  subtle 
as  light,  and  "  deep  almost  as  life  ?  "  Have  we  not,  by 
the  magic  of  the  sentence,  brought  to  your  memory  the 
pushing,  elbowing,  scrambling,  successful  folks,  who,  in- 
tent upon  the  plums,  have  dashed  their  hands  into  the 
world's  bowl,  and  clutched  the  savoury  fruit  ?  And  do 
you  not  now  remember  the  weak  and  luckless,  who  have 
been  pushed  and  pushed  away  from  the  feast,  who  have 
now  plucked  up  heart,  and  tried  to  scramble  to  the  bowl 
— have  now  grasped  the  hot  plums,  have  carried  them 
within  liair's-breadth  of  their  lips, — and  lo  !  they  have 
been  suddenly  jerked,  or  pushed,  or  elbowed  hence  ;  the 
plums  have  dropped  from  their  fingers,  and,  dejected, 
worn  out,  they  have  retired  from  the  struggle,  feeling 
that  it  was  not  for  them  that  plums  were  gathered  and 
the  bowl  was  filled  ? 

WELLINGTON. 

As  known  to  the  outside  world — as  contemplated  in  his 

public  position  by  Englishmen — the  Duke  of  Wellington 

stood  nobly,  majestically  in  the  oye  of  his  country ;  a  man 
12 


178  JERROLD'S    WIT. 

to  whom  every  year  added  dignity  and  moral  influence, 
for  every  year  his  practical  mind  made  good  some  new 
claim  to  the  regards  of  his  countrymen.  And  thus,  year 
following  year,  and  claim  following  claim,  the  Duke  be- 
came almost  a  living  institution  in  the  minds  of  English- 
men ;  and  time  touched  him  so  lightly,  it  may  be  said  so 
lovingly,  that  time,  preserving  him  from  decrepitude, 
crowned  and  clothed  him  with  what  was  simply  venerable. 
So  for  many,  many  years  has  Wellington  been  among 
men  ;  so  has  he  departed.  So  recently  too  has  he  been 
associated  in  the  mind  of  the  country  by  his  words  as  a 
senator,  and  his  familiar  daily  habits  as  a  citizen,  that  the 
Duke  of  Wellington  seems  not  so  much  to  have  died  as 
to  have  ceased.  But  such  men  die  not,  neither  do  they 
cease  ;  for  their  examples,  their  deeds,  are  vital,  and  for 
all  time  beget  a  kindred  greatness.  The  Duke  somehow 
became  symbolized  in  the  English  mind  as  the  invincible 
genius  of  the  country — the  embodied  assurance  to  all 
men  of  the  might,  the  forethought,  and  the  serene  gran- 
deur of  Britain.  The  popular  memory  of  the  past  was 
enshrined  in  him,  and  with  the  past  the  confiding  hope- 
fulness of  the  future. 

The  Duke  almost  appeared  in  his  own  person — quiet, 
unostentatious  as  he  was  in  his  citizen  whereabout — a 
guarantee  of  destiny  ;  the  pledge  of  fate,  that  which  had 
been,  and  was,  would  be  ;  an  assurance  of  the  continuing 
genius  that  still  and  still  developed  with  generations  ;  the 
genius  that  has  made  England  invincible  and  will  keep 
her  so.  We  admire  men  who  are  enthusiastic  in  their 
calling.  It  matters  not  whether  the  man  be  a  Stephen- 
son, mighty  creator  of  tubular  bridges  ;  a  Jeremiah  Sneak, 
maker  of  pins  ;  we  admire  men  who  are  earnest,  for  being 
so  unflinching  in  the  vindication  of  the  dignity  of  their 


JEBEOLD'S    WIT.  179 

business.  The  scavenger  could  admire  his  brother  scav- 
enger, strong  and  able  at  the  rough  work  ;  but  despised 
him  when  he  neglected  the  nice  delicacy  of  hand  that 
"  sweeps  round  a  post." 

AX    INGENIOUS    LATCH-KEY. 

A  popular  writer  began  a  series  entitled  "  The  Latch- 
key," in  two  or  three  new  publications.  But  each  failed 
before  the  series  was  half  finished. 

"  Tut,"  said  Jerrold,  "that  latch-key  seems  to  be  made 
to  open  and  shut  any  publication." 

ILL-USED     MERIT. 

There  are  some  people  who  think  public  men  very  like 
oranges,  with  no  self-renewing  power  ;  squeeze  them  well, 
and  then  fling  them  away. 

PIG    "WIT. 

"  Give  a  dog  a  bad  name  and  hang  him,"  says  the  old 
saw  ;  now  certainly  the  worst  and  the  shortest  name  to 
give  him  is — wit.  Men  of  wit  and  genius,  it  is  said,  are 
incapable  of  figures — it  is  only  dulness  that  can  master 
arithmetical  combinations.  The  only  animal  that  becomes 
a  genius  by  counting  is — a  pit 


■o- 


MONUMENTS. 

Men  in  honouring  greatness  by  erecting  to  it  monu- 
ments, do  not  pay  greatness  a  debt  in  full  of  all  demands, 
so  much  as  acknowledge  their  continuing  obligation 
to  it. 

A    COMMON    WANT. 

In  the  midst  of  a  stormy  discussion,  a  gentleman  rose 


180  JEEEOLD'S    WIT. 

to  settle  the  matter  in  dispute.     Waving  his  hands  majes- 
tically over  the  excited  disputants,  he  began : — 

"  Gentlemen,  all  I  want  is  common  sense " 

"  Exactly,"  Jerrold  interrupted,  "  that  is  precisely  what 
you  do  want !  " 

The  discussion  was  lost  in  a  burst  of  laughter. 

A    PATTERN    OF    BENEVOLENCE. 

He  was  so  benevolent,  so  merciful  a  man,  that,  in  his 
mistaken  compassion,  he  would  have  held  an  umbrella 
over  a  duck  in  a  shower  of  rain. 

CHEAP    WEDDING-RINGS    AND    DEAR    DIVORCES. 

At  how  small  a  price  may  the  wedding-ring  be  placed 
upon  a  worthless  hand ;  but,  by  the  beauty  of  our  law, 
what  heaps  of  gold  are  indispensable  to  take  it  off! 

"  I    WAS    THINKING." 

An  eminent  artist,  celebrated  for  his  love  of  discussion, 
paused  once  in  the  middle  of  one  of  his  speeches  ;  then 
said, — 

"  I  was  thinking." 

"  Thinking !  impossible !  I  don't  believe  it,"  Jerrold 
replied. 

THE    BRITISH    OAK. 

Thank*  God !  a  British  man-of-war  is  an  ark  of  refuge  ! 
The  British  oak  is  sacred  wheresoever  it  may  float.  Still 
a  part  of  England — still  it  carries  with  it  the  blessings  of 
the  English  soil  that  developed  the  forest  giant  from  the 
acorn — in  its  slow  growth,  and  vastness,  and  unbending 
strength,  a  glorious  type  of  English  freedom.  Float  where 
it  may,  produced  by  English  earth  and  nurtured  by  Eng- 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  181 

lish  skies,  it  is  a  piece  of  England,  a  part  and  parcel  of 
this  glorious  land,  whose  greatest  glory  is  her  protection 
of  the  hapless  fugitive,  and  her  stern,  calm  defiance  of  the 
blood-sucking  pursuer.  The  British  ark  floating  on  the 
waters — how  calmly  defiant  in  its  might — how  serene  in 
its  pride ! 

THE    LUXURY    OF   IDLENESS. 

There  are  many  idlers  to  whom  a  penny  begged  is 
sweeter  than  a  shilling  earned. 

GOLD    IX    THE    DIRT. 

Men  are  apt  not  to  care  how  low  they  stoop,  so  that 
what  they  stoop  for  may  be  worth  the  lifting.  Throw 
ingots  and  jewels  into  a  cesspool,  and  what  a  crowd  of 
even  the  nicest  and  whitest-handed  folks  would  scramble 
for  the  scattered  treasure  ! 

A    CHRISTMAS    CONSCIENCE. 

Surely  Christmas  is  a  time  when,  smitten,  stirred  by 
the  great  cause  of  Christmas,  every  man  should  cleanse 
every  cranny  of  his  soul ;  should — as  housewives  have  it 
— dust  his  immortal  part ;  brush  down  all  the  cobwebs 
that  keep  the  light  out  from  between  heaven  and  it  ;  kill 
all  the  nasty  spiders  that  for  the  last  twelve  months  have 
been  spinning  their  sordid  meshes  to  catch  the  "  small 
gilded  flies,"  the  shining  vanities  of  the  world ;  and  so 
having  made  sweet  and  wholesome  the  conscience  that  for 
the  past  year  has  been  somewhat  spotted  and  begrimed, 
have  it  fit  to  entertain  Christmas  in — to  give  it  a  blithe 
yet  holy  welcome. 

ATTORNEYS. 

Men  with  consciences  tender  as  the  bellies  of  alligators. 


182  JERKOLD'S  WIT. 

KNOWLEDGE    AND    COTTON. 

Commerce  is  the  teacher  of  civilization.  Threads  of 
thought,  lessons  of  human  advancement  and  human  policy 
are  spun  at  cotton-mills,  and  shipped  to  instruct  and  civ- 
ilize the  heathen.  "With  a  cotton  shirt,  the  native  Indian 
enrobes  himself  with  lessons,  although  for  a  time  he  may 
have  no  knowledge  of  their  influence.  The  cotton  tree — 
we  speak  it  not  irreverently — might  be  cultivated  as  the 
Tree  of  Knowledge. 

THE    LAW    OF    WAR. 

The  law  of  war  between  nations,  a  law  illustrated  in 
every  page  of  history,  appears  to  be  this — that  wars  are 
few  or  frequent  in  proportion  to  the  destructive  powers  of 
the  arms  in  use.  When  the  club  was  the  only  weapon  of 
attack  and  defence,  there  was  no  peace  ;  every  knave  had 
his  club,  and  club-law  was  universal.  When  the  sword 
and  buckler  took  its  place,  war  came  and  went  with  the 
season.  As  soon  as  the  harvest  was  sown,  the  Roman 
went  out  against  his  neighbour  or  his  neighbour  advanced 
against  him.  Gunpowder  was  a  great  peace-maker.  If 
with  that  invention  war  became  more  destructive,  it  ceased 
to  be  the  normal  condition  of  mankind.  It  grew  more 
and  more  terrible — more  and  more  brief.  Nations  felt 
how  great  the  loss  must  be  of  a  collision,  and  statesmen 
began  to  ask  themselves  if  the  possible  gain  would  equal 
the  inevitable  loss.  No  doubt,  passion,  ignorance,  per- 
sonal cupidity,  often  overleapt  the  bounds  of  reason,  and 
plunged  all  Europe  into  horrors  ;  but  the  violence  never 
failed  to  obtain  the  reproach  of  public  opinion — the  brand 
of  history.  And  no  ruler,  however  powerful,  can  dispense 
with  the  moral  support  of  public  opinion  ;    and  hence, 


JEEEOLD'S   WIT.  183 

however  warlike,  the  most  passionate  lover  of  war  will 
hesitate  long,  and  resort  to  a  thousand  tricks,  as  Bona- 
parte always  did,  rather  than  appear  to  Europe  as  the 
open  aggressor,  the  wilful  shedder  of  blood. 


VOTE-BUYERS. 

There  woidd  be  few  thieves,  were  there  not  those  eager 
to  buy  the  thieves'  plunder.  The  purchasing  receiver  is 
held  to  be  worse  than  the  robber.  In  like  manner,  the 
gentleman  candidate  who  buys  the  corruption  of  the 
moral  felon,  is  guiltier,  a  far  more  contemptible  object, 
than  the  salesman  of  his  own  independence.  He  may  be 
a  person  rf  most  scrupulous  honour,  he  may  have  a  chosen 
place  in  worshipful  society  ;  but  if  he  has  chaffered  with 
the  self-respect  of  men,  tempting,  and  finally  purchasing 
them  for  his  own  purposes,  like  cattle,  that  man  is  a  knave 
and  a  traitor  to  his  fellow-men  ;  and  there  is  no  amount  of 
rent-roll,  no  breadth  of  acres,  that  can  lessen  his  knavery 
— that  can  lighten  his  treason. 

WELLINGTON    AND    NELSON. 

The  great  ruling  pi-inciple  of  Wellington  was  a  sense 
of  duty.  This  sense  shines  bright  and  cold  as  a  sword, 
throughout  his  despatches,  documents  in  which  the  inward 
mind  and  heart  of  the  man  are  graven  as  with  a  pen  of 
iron  on  a  tablet  of  rock.  As  towards  a  soldier  in  the 
field,  we  have  not  the  same  feeling  of  affection  for  him  as 
for  Nelson  on  his  quarter-deck.  The  popular  ear  has  not 
been  gladdened  with  so  many  anecdotes  of  the  general  as 
nf  i lie  admiral.  Wellington  always  seemed  to  be  at  the 
head  of  his  army — Nelson  in  the  heart  of  his  fleet. 

Till.    I'.l-llof    OF    VINEGAB. 

Oil  is  very  soothing — but  how  conservative  is  the  prop- 


jg4  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

erty  of  vinegar!  How  good  alike  for  pickles  or  for 
priests,  for  cucumbers  or  for  churches !  Hence  is  the 
bishop  of  Exeter  the  ecclesiastical  vinegar-cruet.  There 
is  nothing  he  would  not  preserve  in  it — nothing,  from  a 
dead  church  mouse  to  a  dormant  church  trust.  And  the 
acid  is  of  the  strongest — not  vinegar  that  has  been  wine, 
not  small-beer  vinegar,  but  strong  biting  acid  from  the 
WOod — acid  that  cuts  the  tongue  as  with  an  edge  of  steel. 
And  how  has  this  particular  acid  preserved  the  man  and 
nourished  the  bishop !  Look  at  him  !  What  a  monu- 
mental record  of  acidity  !  The  very  lines  of  his  apostolic 
face  seem  cut,  bitten  in — as  the  engravers  say  of  aqua 
fortis — with  sharpness. 

BETTING-HOUSES. 

Betting-houses  we  look  upon  as  something  worse  than 
the  wigwams  of  savages,  where,  in  token  of  the  victory 
(whether  won  by  cunning  or  by  skill,)  hang  the  scalps  of 
so  many  victims,  ripped  from  the  yet  warm  skulls  by  the 
conquering  barbarian.  There  is  hardly  a  doorway  of  one 
of  these  betting-houses  that  has  not — could  we  but  see  it- 
some  horrid  trophy — some  bloody  memento  of  the  scalp- 
ino-  of  the  English  savage  within — of  the  tribe  of  Black- 
legs,  a  large  tribe,  and  larger  than  the  olden  Chacktaws, 
and  widely  scattered  throughout  this  our  Christian  Lon- 
don ;  yes,  scattered — some  in  drawing-rooms,,  some  in 
kitchens,  and  some  in  saloons.  A  betting-house  is  some- 
thing like  a  den-of-ease  to  a  gin-palace,  staring  with  pain 
and  glittering  with  Dutch  metal  letters. 

A    MISANTHROPE. 

He  enjoys  the  corruption  of  human  nature,  as  an 
epicure  enjoys  venison  long,  long  kept,  and  to  his  nose 
and  palate  all  the  more  fragrant,  succulent. 


JERROLDS  WIT.  185 

CAMBRIDGE    FLOWER-SHOW. 

The  flower  of  all  flowers  at  this  exhibition  was — 
Bachelor's  Buttons  ! 

MARRIAGE    OF    THE    METALS. 

Scene: — Room  in  Royal  Institution. 

Professor  Smith. — u  Very  extraordinary  !  I  say,  Jones, 
have  you  read  this  ?  No !  "Well,  then,  the  Post  says 
that  the  Duke  of  Wellington — the  iron  duke — is  going  to 
marry  Miss  Burdett  Coutts." 

Professor  Jones. — "  Nonsense — it  can't  be  true  !  " 

Professor  Smith. — "  But  if  it  should  be  true,  what 
would  you  think  of  such  a  match  ?  " 

Professor  Jones. — "  Think  of  it  ?  Why,  with  the  duke 
and  the  heiress,  I  would  think  it  a  most  extraordinary 
union  of  iron  and  tin  !  " 

MOTTO  FOR  DRAMATIC  TRANSLATOR  FROM  THE  FRENCH. 

"Aut  scissors  aut  nullus." 

THE    BILLET    SYSTEM. 

Certainly  the  English  publicans  are  apt  to  be  rigorously 
treated  by  Parliament,  as  among  the  worst  of  sinners. 
What  can  be  more  unjust  to  a  certain  body  of  men,  than 
to  compel  them,  because  they  deal  in  victuals  and  house- 
room,  to  give  lodgings  to  soldiers  and  militia-men  ?  The 
publican  is  a  licensed  victualler  only  to  the  civil  part  of  the 
community  :  to  the  army  he  is  not  a  victualler  licensed, 
but  a  victualler  compelled.  With  him  the  place  he  lives 
in  is  always  likely  to  be  in  a  state  of  occupation,  and  his 
bar  and  tap-room  given  up  to  be  sacked.  Bad  to  the 
publican  is  chalk,  but  nothing  so  bad  as  pipeclay. 


186  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

THE    KNOWLEDGE    OF    PRINCES. 

Princes  always  "  evince  considerable  knowledge."  If  a 
prince  were  made  king  of  M.  Leverrier's  new  planet,  just 
discovered,  his  majesty  would  at  once  "  evince  consider- 
able knowledge  "  of  all  its  plains  and  mountains,  and  a 
very  intimate  acquaintance  with  some  of  the  principal 
inhabitants. 

COURT   FOOLS. 

In  the  good  old  times,  kings  and  statesmen  kept  fools. 
It  was  something  that  even,  and  in  its  most  wayward 
hour,  tyranny  would  listen  to  the  rebuke  of  humanity, 
when  uttered  by  an  "  innocent."  The  bitter  truth  was 
sugared  with  nonsense,  and  so  swallowed.  Had  the 
words  of  such  fools  more  prevailed,  haply  the  page  of 
history  had  been  less  stained  with  blood  and  tears. 

THE    BEST    RULERS. 

The  kings  and  caliphs  who  in  disguise  have  mixed 
with  the  people,  sharing  their  amusements  and  listening 
to  their  sorrows,  have  made  themselves  acknowledged  by 
their  deeds  as  the  very  best  and  wisest  rulers.  They  live 
enshrined  in  history,  and  their  names  through  generations 
glow  in  story,  and  are  melodious  in  ballads.  In  like 
manner,  a  future  House  of  Lords,  that,  in  its  infancy,  has 
known  the  sufferings,  and  above  all,  the  heroism,  of  the 
working  men,  cannot  but  legislate  in  the  noblest  and  most 
benevolent  spirit  for  the  sons  of  labour.  The  fine  porce- 
lain of  the  world  will  really  know  something  more  of  the 
mere  red  Adam,  and  make  juster  laws  for  their  brother 
accordingly. 


JEREOLD'S  WIT.  187 

THE    BREAD-TREE. 

Not  without  meaning  is  the  beautiful  superstition  of 
certain  Indians,  who  have  so  holy  and  so  affectionate  a 
regard  for  the  bread-tree,  that  they  have  a  legend  that 
the  first  bread-tree  was  formed  from  the  dust  of  the  earth 
that  made  the  first  man.  In  this  manner  is  exquisitely 
symbolized  the  nature  of  bread  !  It  is  a  part  and  parcel 
of  humanity  ;  and  he  who  would  make  bread  scarcer  and 
dearer  to  the  labouring  man,  commits  an  offence  against 
the  very  sacredness  of  man,  persecuting  him  in  his  flesh, 
his  blood  and  his  bones. 

THE    WORKHOUSE    PRISON. 

A  miserable  sight — a  hideous  testimony  of  the  thank- 
lessness  of  prosperous  man — is  the  rural  Union,  with  its 
blank  dead  wall  of  brick  ;  a  cold  blind  thing,  the  work  of 
human  perversity  and  human  selfishness,  amidst  ten 
thousand  thousand  evidences  of  eternal  bounty.  How 
beautiful  is  the  beauty  of  God  around  it !  There  is  not  a 
sapling,  having  its  green  tresses  of  June,  that  does  not 
make  the  heart  yearn  with  kindliness  ;  not  a  field-flower 
that  does  not,  with  its  speaking  eye,  tell  of  abundant 
goodness.  The  brook  is  musical  with  the  same  sweet 
truth ;  all  sights  and  sounds  declare  it.  The  liberal  love- 
liness of  Nature,  turn  where  we  will,  looks  upon  and 
whispers  to  us.  We  are  made  the  heirs  of  wealth  inex- 
haustible, of  pleasures  deep  as  the  sea,  and  pure  as  the 
joys  of  Paradise.  And  our  return  for  this,  our  offer- 
ing to  the  wretchedness  of  our  fellow-creatures,  is 
yonder  prison,  with  its  dead  wall  turned  upon  the 
pleasant  aspects  of  Nature,  lest  the  pauper  captives 
within    should    behold    what    God    has    done    for    that 


188  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

world,  in   which,  according  to  the  world's  justice,  they 
have  nothing ! 

THE  GLORY  OF  THE  DEPARTED  GREAT. 

Great  principles  are  the  immortal  heirs  of  great  men, 
as  wicked  ones  are  the  enduring  reproach  of  the  iniqui- 
tous. Light  continually  streams  from  some  graves,  as 
mists  arise  from  others.  The  glory  of  a  dead  Romilly 
still  darts  along  the  path  of  living  men,  as  the  fogs  from 
the  grave  of  the  doubter  Eldon  do  still  arise,  for  all  we 
have  done  to  purify  and  scatter  them,  and  half  suffocate 
poor  wheezing  Practice  in  Chancery. 

MELTING   MOMENTS. 

It  occasionally  happens  that  a  bear  afloat  on  an  iceberg 
drifts  into  a  warmer  latitude  than  the  latitude  of  eternal 
frost ;  and  as  the  iceberg  melts  and  melts  under  the 
increasing  heat,  the  bear  shifts  and  shifts,  finding  his 
footing  passing  from  beneath  him  ;  and  at  length  howls 
piteously,  to  know  the  dissolution  of  the  iceberg  must  in 
time  occur.  "We  would  not  compare  a  minister  of  state 
to  a  polar  bear,  nevertheless,  even  a  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer,  as  he  finds  Parliament  melting,  and  a  disso- 
lution inevitable,  will  sometimes  change  his  music. 

THE    TURF. 

The  great  plea  for  the  turf  is  our  breed  of  horses.  The 
horse  ought  indeed,  to  be  both  strong  and  generous,  to 
bear  and  yet  forgive  the  atrocities  that  are  placed  upon 
the  noble  animal's  shoulders. 

THE    PEOPLE. 

The  millions  that  make  the  world,  even  as  millions  of 
ants  make  an  ant-hill. 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  189 

A    TITLED    MAGNIFICO. 

He  was  a  huge,  gigantic  nobleman  !  When  he  rose  to 
his  full  height,  his  head  almost,  in  his  own  belief — 
knocked  against  the  stars.  He  was  amongst  ordinary 
peers  what  the  fossil  elephant  of  thirty  feet  high  is  to  the 
live  elephant,  that,  of  ordinary  stature,  peaceably  eats  its 
carrot  in  the  park.  The  duke  woke  and  slept  in  his 
pride,  armed  in  it  like  the  rhinoceros  in  its  coat  of  mail. 
In  the  opinion  of  his  Grace,  this  visible  world  was  ex- 
pressly made  for  noblemen  ;  and  it  was  not  mere  Adam, 
but  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Eden,  that  took  possession  ot 
Paradise  ! 

PIGS    AND    LIONS. 

Let  us  for  a  moment  consider  the  increased  value  of 
pigs  as  placed  against  the  worth  of  lions  and  eagles.  Let 
us  consider  the  superiority  of  the  pig  when  considered 
with  even  a  royal  lion  or  an  imperial  eagle.  Put  pig  in 
one  scale  and  lion  in  another,  and  whilst  every  morsel  of 
your  pig  is  a  morsel  of  some  value,  more  or  less,  your 
lion,  with  the  exception  of  his  tawny  hide,  may  be  sunk 
as  -o  much  offal.  And  then  turning  to  the  cost  of  the 
keep  of  a  lion.  Consider  the  expense.  How  much  beef 
will  the  beast,  with  that  rasp-like  tongue  of  his,  stiip  from 
bullock's  shins,  and  what  the  use  of  him,  when  gone  the 
way — the  royal  way — of  even  regal  lions  !  A  carcase — 
a  foul,  rank  carcase — all  his  worth,  and  all  his  beauty, 
just  skin-deep.  Flay  him,  and  he  is  good  for  nothing 
better  than  the  imperial  eagle  that,  living,  lives  a  life  of 
prey,  and  'lying,  is  garbage,  even  as  the  leonine  offal. 
How  different  the  pig !  In  his  life  he  is  quiet — we  mean 
of  course  when  civilized,  reclaimed  from  the  savage  kin- 


190  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

ship  of  wild  swinishness — and  in  his  death  he  is  beneficent, 
beautiful !  Consider  the  qualities  of  a  dead  pig ;  think  of 
him  in  his  great  and  luscious  variety ;  in  his  power  of 
hams  ;  in  his  conservative  phase  of  sides  of  bacon.  His 
very  blood  is  a  fountain  of  plenty,  and  meanders  into 
puddings. 

In  every  way,  in  even  every  smallest  manifestation, 
from  bowels  to  bristles,  what  a  worth  and  a  blessing  to  a 
man  is  a  dead  pig — a  mere  vulgar,  mire-rejoicing  pig,  in 
comparison  with  the  stately,  the  terrible,  the  magnanimous 
Hon ! 

COSTLY   FUNERALS. 

One  of  the  great  social  evils  is  the  foolish — in  too  many 
cases  the  wicked — expense  forced  upon  people  by  the 
extravagant  cost  of  funerals.  The  poor  are  made  poorer 
by  the  practice  ;  a  calamity  is  made  more  calamitous  by 
increasing  and  perpetuating  the  privation  that,  with  the 
first  blow,  it  inflicts. 

A    RECEIPT    IN    FULL. 

"  Whatever  promises  a  man  may  make  before  mar- 
riage," said  Jerrold,  "the  license  is  as  a  receipt  in 
full." 

PLACEMEN. 

The  people  have  been  to  placemen  what  dolls  are  to 
scapegrace  boys  :  things  for  wilful  experiment,  to  be  put 
up  and  flung  aside,  and  now  to  have  the  bran  poked  out 
of  them,  and  now  to  be  cast  in  a  corner,  and  now  to  be 
trodden  under  foot.  But  the  times  are  changed.  The 
doll  has  become  flesh  and  blood,  and  resolute  and  earnest 
brain,  no  longer  to  be  treated  with  the  cold-blood,  which 
marked  the  conduct  of  bygone  statesmen. 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  191 

davidge's  death. 

Davidge,  the  avaricious  manager  of  the  Surrey  Theatre, 
died  early  one  evening.  A  friend  carried  the  news  to 
Jerrold. 

"  Hang  it,"  said  Jerrold,  "  I  should  have  thought  he 
would  wait  till  the  half-price  had  come  in." 

A    SMALL    POET. 

He  bears  the  same  situation  to  the  poet  as  the  kitten 
with  eyes  just  opened  to  the  merits  of  a  saucer  of  milk, 
bears  to  the  Hon  in  his  majesty,  glaring  athwart  the 
desert.  There  is  the  true  Helicon,  and  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  the  smallest  of  small  beer  over-kept  in  a  tin  mug 
— with  the  dead  flies  in  it. 

A    NATIONAL    MOTTO. 

"  Ask  for  nothing  but  what  is  right,  and  submit  to 
nothing  that  is  wrong."  This  should  be  the  motto  of 
every  wise  and  every  powerful  state.  There  is  more  true 
strength,  more  real  and  enduring  power,  in  the  end,  in 
that  sentence,  than  in  the  destructive  roar  of  broadsides, 
in  the  mortal  belchings  of  artillery. 

FREEDOM. 

A  wise  freedom  is  an  attribute  of  God. 

THE    CELT. 

Talk  not  to  us  of  the  irreclaimable  genius  of  the  Celt  : 
in  his  mud  cabin,  under  the  influence  of  his  priest,  and 
in  the  midst  of  ignorance,  poverty,  superstition,  he  is 
what  most  other  men  would  be  in  such  cabins  and  under 
priestly  influence.     But  lake  him  thence,  throw  light  into 


192  JEEROLD'S  WIT. 

his  mind,  put  food  into  his  stomach,  give  freedom  to  hi* 
thought,  and  a  motive  to  his  industry,  and  there  is  no 
better  fellow  in  the  world.  With  his  belly  full  of  food, 
his  priest  a  thousand  miles  away,  his  wife  happy  at  his 
side,  and  the  morrow  not  yawning  at  his  feet  like  a  felon's 
grave,  the  virtues  and  genialities  of  the  true  Irishman 
come  out  brightly  ;  and  in  a  few  years  he  is  remarkable 
among  his  fellows  for  his  warm  heart — his  ready  mind — 
his  sympathetic  tear ;  for  the  love  of  his  children — 
the  steadiness  of  his  industry — the  freedom  of  his 
thinking. 

"born  to  greatness." 
Certain  families  only  have  been  born  to  government ; 
there  is   an  acknowledged  breed  of  statesmen,  even  as 
Lord    Derby  has  an   immaculate   breed  of  game   ban- 
tams. 

A    SINE    QUA    NON. 

A  Lord  Mayor  without  the  show  must  be  like  mince- 
pie  without  brandy — turbot  without  lobster  sauce — calf  s 
head  without  parsley  and  butter. 

PLURALIST    PARSONS. 

Pluralists  take  the  cure  of  souls  as  men  take  the  cure 
of  herrings,  at  so  much  per  hundred — with  this  difference, 
that  the  soul-curers  do  nothing,  and  the  herring-curers 
fulfil  their  contract.  We  have  no  faith  in  these  polypi 
parsons ;  pulpit  things,  with  many  stomachs  and  no 
hearts  ;  no  faith  in  them,  not  a  jot  of  reverence  for  them  ; 
and  the  sooner  the  things  shall  cease  to  exist,  the  better 
for  the  institution  they  deform  and  scandalize. 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  193 

philanthropy's  pets. 
Every   impostor   rewarded,    is    a   worthy    poor    man 
wronged.     We  do  not  respect  the  philanthropy  that  has 
its  especial  pets  ;  and  yet  those  pets  abound. 

PUBLIC    OPINION. 

A  despised  seed,  which,  although  sown  amid  the  scorn 
and  laughter  and  derision  of  society,  grows  into  a  tree 
of  strongest  root  and  robust  dimensions. 


o  ■ 


AN    EPITAPH    FOR    "PROTECTION." 
HERE   LIES 

PROTECTION : 

IT   LIED    THROUGHOUT   ITS   LIFE, 
AND   NOW 

LIES   STILL. 

DANGER    TO    THE    STATE. 

"Weak  and  wicked  is  the  principle  that  creates  unneces- 
sary danger,  even  if  no  evil  come  of  it.  A  man  may,  if 
it  so  please  him,  play  tricks  with  a  red-hot  poker ;  but 
we  would  rather  be  out  of  the  neighbourhood  if  he  flour- 
ished it  in  a  powder-mill. 

IRISH    ANGLING 

An  Irish  patriot  angling  for  martyrdom  does  not  realize 
the  Johnsonian  picture  of  a  fisherman.  There  is  not  the 
worm  at  one  end  and  the  fool  at  another.  Nevertheless, 
the  angling  is  peculiarly  Irish,  inasmuch  as  Mitchell, 
to  catch  gudgeons,  baits  with — a  pike. 


194  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

THE    "WATERY    ELEMENT." 

A  certain  number  of  emigrants  having  been  presented, 
by  a  Teetotal  Society,  with  a  banner  depicting  the  four 
quarters  of  the  world,  Jerrold  wrote — "  Europe,  we  are 
told,  is  represented  by  the  figure  of  a  horse  ;  Asia,  by  a 
camel ;  Africa,  by  an  elephant ;  and  America,  by  an  elk. 
We  hardly  think  the  selection  very  significant  of  tem- 
perance. The  camel,  it  is  known,  will  take  at  one  drink 
enough  liquid  to  supply  him  for  days.  The  horse  will  not 
refuse  toast  steeped  in  ale,  or,  as  Comines  tells  us,  a  pail- 
ful of  wine ;  whilst  the  drunkenness  of  elephants,  with 
the  means  and  opportunities  of  obtaining  arrack,  is,  for 
the  outward  gravity  of  the  hypocrites,  a  scandal  upon 
elephants  in  general.  The  elk,  as  representing  America, 
is  perhaps  the  best ;  inasmuch  as  we  have  never  heard  of 
elks  addicted  either  to  sherry-cobblers  or  mint-juleps. 
Still,  in  preference  to  the  elk  typical  of  America,  the 
Temperance  Society  might  have  adopted  the  whole  hog. 
We  would  surest  as  figures  for  a  future  banner,  neither 
elk,  nor  horse,  nor  elephant ;  but  frogs — bull-frogs  in  a 
pond ;  for  they  only  muddy  where  they  stir,  and  their 
monotonous  croak  is  of  water." 

TEMPERANCE    BRAWLERS. 

Temperance  is  an  admirable  quality,  even  as  peace  is 
a  blessing ;  but  somehow,  as  there  are  certain  men  who 
become  public  disturbers  in  the  name  of  peace,  so  are 
there  teetotallers  who  make  more  noise  upon  water  than 
other  men  make  upon  wine.  They  have  continual  water 
on  the  brain,  and,  like  an  overflowing  pump,  it  continually 
runs  out  of  their  mouths. 


JERROLD'S    WIT.  195 

time's  annual  shave. 

Niitts,  barbei'  (loquitur). — As  the  clock  strikes  twelve 
on  the  31st  of  every  December,  he  takes  up  his  scythe, 
which  is  Time's  razor, — and  what  that's  stropped  upon 
'twould  make  a  man's  fortin  to  find  out — for  what  cuts 
like  it,  I  should  wish  to  know  !  Well,  he  takes  up  his 
scythe,  and  holding  himself  by  the  nose,  begins  the  opera- 
tion. His  glass  is  the  Frozen  Ocean,  and  he  shaves  by 
the  Northern  Lights.  Presently,  like  a  new-born  babby, 
Time  hasn't  a  hair  on  his  chin.  No  !  I  consider  him  a 
nice  smart  young  chap,  with  a  very  clear  face,  a  very 
straight  back,  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eye,  a  sprig  of  green 
holly  in  his  mouth,  and  quite  ready  to  draw,  wherever 
he's  invited,  for  Twelfth-cake,  and  dance  with  all  the 
women  afterwards. 

TAMED    ANIMALS. 

Not  many  years  since,  it  was  loudly  declared  that  the 
people,  as  the  mass,  were  not  to  be  trusted  in  public  mu- 
seums and  public  gardens.  Nevertheless  there  has  been 
a  gathering  of  thousands  in  the  Zoological  Gardens ; 
and  up  to  the  present  hour,  Mr.  Mitchell,  the  secretary 
(to  whose  high  intelligence  and  remarkable  energy  may 
be  solely  attributed  the  present  magnificent  condition  of 
the  gardens),  Mr.  Mitchell  has  missed  nothing.  Not  a 
single  lion  has  been  carried  off.  The  elephant  and  the 
elephant's  little  one  are  where  they  were.  Every  hyena, 
if  called,  would  laugh  and  answer  to  the  muster-roll,  and 
every  leopard  purr  to  the  voice  of  the  keeper.  No  woman 
decamped  with  a  live  bird  in  her  reticule,  and  no  mis- 
chievous urchin  left  the  gardens  with  a  rattlesnake  in  his 
pocket.     Nay  more,  with   this  gathering  of  upwards  of 


196  JEEROLD'S  WIT. 

twenty-one  thousand,  there  was  not  a  shrub  despoiled, 
nor  a  rosebush  broken.  Such  is  the  moral  teaching  of 
such  visits. 

CHILDREN    OF    THE    STREET. 

Wretched  untended  creatures,  almost  seemingly  come 
into  life  without  human  agency ;  animals  swarmed  from 
gutters  and  dunghills,  even  as,  in  midsummer  heat,  myr- 
iads of  insects  take  their  existence  from  stagnant  pools. 
In  their  infancy,  in  their  babyhood,  is  the  ignorance  that 
kills  the  soul  of  the  future  man — is  the  germ  of  the  pas- 
sions that  make  him  grow  up  like  a  wild  beast,  hereafter 
to  prey  like  a  winter  wolf  upon  the  society  that  in  his 
infant  need  has  despised  and  neglected  him. 

THE    LITERARY    FUND. 

It  seems  that  in  seven  years  the  donations  and  sub- 
scriptions to  the  Literary  Fund  amounted  to  £6,703  Is. 
Of  this  sum  (not  over-magnificent  by  the  bye  for  a 
wealthy  country  like  England,  being  less  than  £1,000 
a  year)  not  less  than  £5,397  7s.  Id.  were  spent  in  the 
costs  of  collection  and  the  annual  dinners.  Charity,  it  is 
said,  covers  a  multitude  of  sins ;  but  then,  in  the  case  of 
charity  dinners,  such  as  the  above,  the  "  covers  "  should 
be  dish-covers. 

HATS. 

Advices  from  Munich  speak  of  the  constructive  treason 
of  certain  hatters,  who  have  furnished  sundry  young  men 
with  Calabrian  broad-brimmed  hats ;  the  depth  of  their 
disaffection  to  be  measured  by  the  circumference  of  the 
felt.  The  young  men  were  taken  to  prison,  not  for  what 
was  in  their  heads,  but  for  what  was  upon  them  ;  not  for 
what  they  thought,  but  for  what  jthey  wore.     Hats  have 


JEREOLD'S    WIT.  197 

played  a  distinguished  part  in  politics  ever  since  men  had 
heads.  Switzerland  owes  something  to  Gesler's  hat. 
After  all,  "  uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown,"  if 
the  crown  he  in  fear  of  the  hat.  For  somehow,  sooner 
or  later,  the  crown — fine  and  glittering  as  it  is — is  sure  to 
get  the  worst  of  it. 

THE    FOUR    GEORGES. 

We  have  had  four  Georges,  and  can  say  nothing  in 
favour  of  either.  George  the  First  and  George  the 
Second  were  average  moralists  of  that  corner-cupboard 
court,  the  small  court  of  Germany.  Each  of  them 
burned  his  father's  will ;  an  act  that  might  have  savoured 
of  Tyburn  in  the  case  of  vulgar  mortals.  George  the 
Third  was  constant  to  a  leg  of  mutton,  and  a  pattern  of 
the  conjugal  virtues  ;  but,  as  a  set-off  to  this,  he  was 
(could  he  help  it  ?)  the  father  of  George  the  Fourth, 
alias  Mrs.  Fitzherbert's  husband.  Thinking  of  this  royal 
ill-luck  hanging  about  the  name,  let  us  not  have  another 
George. 

VELVET   AND    FUSTIAN. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  of  late  years  noblemen  have 
been  more  and  more  impressed  with  the  belief  that  they, 
noblemen  as  they  are,  are  nevertheless  the  same  animals 
as  workmen.  Stars  and  garters  are  no  amulets  against 
typhus  fever.  Lords  have  learned  that  even  they  have 
an  interest — yes,  a  personal  interest — in  the  comforts  and 
decencies  of  labourers.  There  is  no  coat  of  mail,  no 
magic  in  the  woof  of  the  earl's  velvet,  against  the  malady 
slumbering  under  the  fustian  jacket.  Disease  and  death 
are  the  most  tremendous  preachers,  striking  on  all  hearts 
with  the  ailrightening  lorce  of  a  sudden  knell. 


198  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

THE  BALLOT. 

Give  us  the  ballot,  and  the  butchers'  daughters  will  go 
unkissed ;  for  how  can  you  know  how  Mr.  Chops  will 
vote  ?  Give  us  the  ballot,  and  candidates  will  not  go 
like  licensed  hawkers  from  door  to  door,  humbly  begging 
that  they  may  make  known  the  contents  of  their  pack  of 
principles,  and  be  thereupon  honoured  with  patronage. 
Give  us  the  ballot,  and  you  give  the  death-blow  to  a  cor- 
ruption that  too  often,  throughout  whole  boroughs,  walks 
the  streets,  poisoning — ■is  it  not  so,  0  Canterbury  ? — even 
the  sanctity  of  cathedral  places. 

TRAITORS    IN   EFFIGY. 

The  Chief  Justice  of  England  having  expressed  his 
belief  that  a  deputation  of  merchants,  bankers,  and 
traders  of  the  city  of  London,  who  had  been  to  Paris  to 
oifer  their  congratulations  to  the  French  Emperor  upon 
a  recent  national  event,  had  been  guilty  of  treason,  Jer- 
rold  wrote, — "Are  we  to  have  no  satisfaction  for  the 
affront  passed  upon  the  English  nation  by  the  late  visitors 
and  worshippers  who  saluted  the  toe  of  the  French  em- 
peror ?  Certainly,  on  reconsideration,  we  become  less 
sanguinary,  and  should  be  sorry  for  the  renewal  of  the 
time  that  should  promote  three  heads — a  merchant's,  a 
banker's,  and  a  trader's — to  the  height  of  Temple  Bar. 
Nevertheless,  we  would  have  certain  of  the  deputation 
punished,  if  not  in  the  flesh,  by  effigy.  For  instance, 
we  would  require  of  three  of  them  a  complete  suit  of 
clothes  each — a  suit  well  known  in  the  market  and  on 
'Change — and  these  clothes,  duly  stuffed  with  straw, 
should  be  surmounted  by  a  mask,  being  a  faithful  like- 
ness   of   Lord    Campbell's    traitors.      These    effigies — 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  199 

(think  of  the  pain  of  pocket,  the  torture  of  the  till,  for 
the  prince  merchant  and  the  warm  trader  to  be  repre- 
sented by  mere  men  of  straw  !) — these  effigies  should  be 
drawn  on  hurdles  from  Birch's,  where  the  authorities 
should  take  a  basin  of  turtle  (in  historic  imitation  of  the 
last  tipple  that  was  quaffed  in  Tyburn  ride  at  St.  Giles's 
Pound),  then  straightway  proceed  to  the  site  of  Aldgate 
pump.  There  decapitation  should  take  place,  and  the 
heads  for  the  space  of  two  months  should  be  exhibited, 
even  as  in  the  olden  times  were  heads  of  bone  and  flesh, 
above  Temple  Bar !  There  would  be  an  especial  mean- 
ing in  this  mockery ;  a  sharp  significance  in  this  very 
flam. 

AN    ENEMY    TO    PROGRESS. 

He  would,  no  doubt,  have  opposed  vaccination,  as 
interfering  with  the  marked  privileges  of  the  smallpox. 

THE    EMPEROR   NICHOLAS. 

He  was  the  incarnation  of  the  Evil  Spirit,  permitted 
for  some  mysterious  end  awhile  to  menace  human  pro- 
gress.— to  check  and  paralyze  the  force  and  freedom  of 
human  aspirations.  At  this  age  of  the  world,  a  sad  and 
sickening  thought  that  it  should  be  so !  To  know  that 
even  the  merest  outbreak  of  temper  of  one  man  may  call 
down  misery  and  suffering  on  millions  !  Thus  thought 
of,  even  the  biliary  secretions  of  a  military  ogre,  such 
as  Nicholas,  are  matters  of  consequence  to  Europe.  The 
state  of  the  world  may  depend  upon  one  man's  stomach  ; 
and  thus  it  may  be  of  the  greatest  importance  to  consider 
what  an  emperor  eats,  or  what  an  emperor  avoids,  for 
Bupper.  From  pickled  salmon  and  cucumber  may  break 
forth  a  desolating  war  !     Fearfully  and  wonderfully  are 


200  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

we  all  made  ;  but  how  fearfully,  how  wonderfully,  when 
the  nervous  system  of  one  man  is  so  intimately  bound  up 
with  a  million  of  swords  and  parks  of  artillery. 

READY-MADE    WOOD    PAVEMENT. 

When  the  Marylebone  vestrymen  were  discussing  the 
propriety  of  laying  down  wood  pavement  within  their 
parish,  and  were  raising  difficulties  on  the  subject,  Jer- 
rold,  as  he  read  the  report  of  the  discussion,  said, — 

"  Difficulties  in  the  way  !  Absurd.  They  have  only 
to  put  their  heads  together,  and  there  is  the  wood  pave- 
ment." 

This  joke  has  been  erroneously  given  to  Sydney 
Smith. 

BLACK    AND    WHITE. 

A  very  pleasant  sight  to  behold,  those  fair  ladies  who 
curtsy  their  homage  to  the  Queen  on  drawing-room 
days,  blooming  and  happy  as  though  this  world  was  to 
last  for  ever,  and  the  grave-digger  was  as  fabulous  an 
animal  as  the  unicorn.  But  grave  thoughts  arise  from 
the  array  of  finery  displayed.  How  many  lives  does  it 
cost  ?  To  trim  up  the  duchess,  how  many  poor  girls — 
delicate,  unformed  creatures,  in  that  transition  state  of 
girlhood  when  nature  demands  free  development — are 
doomed,  it  may  be,  to  an  early  grave  ?  How  many  toil 
their  sixteen  hours  a  day  ?  Nay — how  many  work, 
work,  work,  in  close,  contaminating  air,  throughout  the 
night,  in-  a  stifling  room,  that  the  peeress  may  blaze  in 
the  perfumed  atmosphere  of  a  royal  palace?  Now, 
these  are  thoughts  that  will  arise  from  a  passing  contem- 
plation of  the  dresses  at  the  drawing-room.  We  see  the 
most   fanciful,   the    most   brilliant   apparel;    we   behold 


JEEROLD'S  WIT.  201 

female  raiment  in  every  beautiful  form  and  fashion.  And 
looking  a  little  deeply,  we  may  see  Death  there — Death 
the  milliner. 

A    CONTRAST. 

The  Church  of  England  is  a  church  of  purple  and  fine 
linen,  and  a  church  of  rags  and  tatters.  Or  we  might 
paint  the  Church,  as  an  old  pictorial  moralist  painted 
Death  and  the  Lady :  one  half  all  glowing  plumpness  and 
beauty,  fresh  to  the  eye  and  more  than  pleasing  to  the 
heart ;  the  other  an  outline  of  bone,  a  gaunt,  naked  mis- 
ery. Or  we  might  give  the  real  thing;  for  no  fancy  can 
improve  uptei  the  actual  wretchedness  of  contrast  pre- 
sented, by  half-bishop,  half-curate. 

CONSCIENCE. 

A  man — so  to  speak — who  is  not  able  to  bow  to  his 
own  conscience  every  morning,  is  hardly  in  a  condition 
to  respectfully  salute  the  world  at  any  other  time  of  the 
day. 

THE    TWO    BUSTS. 

In  a  certain  exhibition  of  the  works  of  French  artists 
are  two  busts  placed  side  by  side — so  close  together,  we 
are  informed,  as  almost  to  touch.  One  bust  is  that  of  our 
Saviour,  crowned  with  thorns;  the  other  is  that  of  Louis 
Napoleon,  crowned  with  laurels.  After  all,  there  is 
another  and  a  deeper  meaning  in  this  juxtaposition  of 
heads — a  meaning  too  subtle  for  blundering  sycophancy. 
"We  know  that  the  Head  crowned  with  thorns  had  at  the 
hour  another  head  on  eacli  side  of  it.  Well,  Louis  Na- 
poleon  (with  the  mockery  of  laurel)  supplies  the  one;  but 
as  to  which,  let  the  reader  furnish  the  interpretation  ! 


202  JEEROLD'S   WIT. 

THE    INCOME-TAX. 

The  country  puts  up  with  the  injustice,  fed,  not  only  by 
hope,  but  by  what  makes  a  more  tangible  show — untaxed 
food.  Hope,  with  her  anchor,  smiling  at  heaven,  makes 
a  very  pretty  picture  for  a  mantel-piece ;  but  is  all  the 
prettier  for  the  eatables  in  the  cupboard.  The  housewife 
enjoys  her  hope  all  the  more,  if  with  it  she  can  have  cheap 
sugar  and  cheap  tea.  And  thus  do  we  bear  awhile  with 
a  manifest  injustice,  mollified  by  compensating  good  for 
the  present ;  and  by  hope  for  future  direct  taxation. 

CCEUR    DE    LION'S    HEART. 

It  has  been  suggested  that,  should  Baron  Marochetti's 
statue  of  Richard  I.  be  finally  adopted  as  an  enduring 
memorial  of  the  Crystal  Palace,  Richard's  heart — buried 
at  Rouen — should  be  solicited  of  Louis  Napoleon,  to  be 
reinterred  in  England  under  the  statue.  This  may  be 
accepted  as  the  emperor's  contribution ;  who — if  he  can 
find  the  relic — will  no  doubt  very  readily  "  down  with  the 
dust." 

MARTYRDOM. 

No  sacrifice  so  easy  as  to  endure  the  martyrdom  of 
other  people.  Skin  a  martyr  alive,  and  we  can  imagine 
a  beholder  who,  with  the  highest  admiration  for  the  hero- 
ism of  the  sufferer,  shall  take  a  pinch  of  snuff  and  cry, 
"  Noble  fellow  ! " 

THE    SAINTS'    SUNDAY. 

If  it  were  given  to  these  saints — with  souls  in  black — 
to  do  what  they  list  with  Sunday,  what  would  they  make 
of  it  ?  They  would  surely  mount  even  Jacob's  ladder,  to 
hang  the  Sunday  heavens  with  Sunday  sackcloth. 


JEEROLD'S   WIT.  203 

A    NAME    FOR    NICHOLAS. 

No  potentate  better  knew  the  value  of  time,  and  how 
its  loss  to  others  became  a  value  to  him ;  no  ruler  ever 
knew  how  to  make  more  despatch  or  delay.  Certain 
king's  have  come  down  to  us  named  after  their  habits, 
virtues,  personal  excellences,  or  defects.  We  have 
Philip  the  Bald,  William  the  Silent,  Louis  the  Fat. 
Now,  Nicholas  of  Russia,  by  the  political  use  he  makes, 
now  of  celerity,  and  now  of  procrastination,  may,  in  de- 
fault of  any  other  title,  descend  to  posterity  as  the  Nick 
of  Time. 

WORLDLY   SUCCESS. 

The  face  of  the  world  is  not  apt  to  frown  at  success  ; 
no,  it  is  too  ready  to  break  into  smiles  at  any  gigantic 
prosperity,  no  matter  how  darkened  the  means  by  which 
it  was  attained. 

MAIDS    OF    HONOUR. 

Poor,  inanimate,  unreal  dolls,  with  just  will  enough  of 
their  own  to  ooen  their  eyes  and  shut  them. 

THE    CAT-O'-NINE    TAILS. 

Surely  the  devil  himself  sows  the  seed  that  grows  the 
hemp,  and  the  devil's  demons  twist  it. 

FIGHTING    MEN. 

Mahomet  engraved  texts  of  the  Koran  on  the  biood- 
shedding  scimitar  ;  but  surely  "  love  one  another  "  was 
not  written  even  on  the  sword  of  St.  Peter.  Let  us  pay 
all  reverence  to  fighting  men — all  needful  honours.  In 
our  transition  state,  they  are  our  best  guarantees  of  na- 
tional freedom.     But  let  us  hope  that  the  Gospel  has  a 


204  JERKOLD'S  WIT. 

brighter  light    than    that  which  gleams  from  bayonets. 
Gunpowder  is  not  the  best  frankincense. 

GEORGE    THE    THIRD. 

He  was  the  anointed  of  obstinacy.  Had  he  been  born 
a  farmer,  he  might  haply  have  invented  a  new  snare  for 
weasels,  or  have  successfully  given  his  mind  to  the  hu- 
mane and  dexterous  treatment  of  boar-pigs  at  a  critical 
time  of  pig-life.  We  had  then  escaped  his  statesmanship 
in  the  blunder  and  the  debt  of  an  American  war;  for 
which  achievement  he  is  immortalized  in  unchangeable 
bronze  before  the  windows  of  Ransom  and  Co.,  his  pig- 
tail pointing  the  way  opposite  to  his  head,  the  way  of  the 
wise — due  East. 

QUEEN    CHARLOTTE'S    COURT. 

Cold  and  dismal  court !  Why,  the  freedom  of  a  white- 
washed garret  must  have  been  happiness,  jollity  itself 
compared  with  it. 

THE    CABMAN'S    SIXPENCE. 

Give  a  sixpence  to  a  showman's  elephant,  and  the 
sagacious  animal — its  small  eye  wide  awake  to  money — 
at  once  knows  the  value  of  the  bit  of  silver,  and  exchanges 
it  for  buns.  How  much  more  sensible  is  the  elephant 
than  the  cabman  !  For  lay  a  sixpence  in  the  hands  of  a 
cabman,  and  his  look  of  ignorance  is  almost  affecting.  It 
would  seem  that  the  coin  was  perfectly  new  to  him ;  that 
he  had  no  more  notion  of  its  value  than  if  it  were  a  shekel 
struck  in  Jerusalem. 

A    COURT    NOBLE 

To  him  the  court  of  England  was  no  doubt  more  sub- 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  205 

lime  than  the  court  of  Solomon.  Indeed,  to  climb  the 
back-stairs  was  to  mount  the  true  Jacob's  ladder,  that  led 
directly  to  the  stars — and  garters ! 

THE    LIMIT    OF    THE    LAW. 

Men  will  not  be  made  temperate  or  virtuous  by  the 
strong  hand  of  the  law,  but  by  the  teaching  and  influence 
of  moral  power.  A  man  is  no  more  made  sober  by  act 
of  parliament  than  a  woman  is  made  chaste. 

POWER    GROWS. 

The  eaglet  must  have  time.  The  beak  that,  in  due 
6eason,  will  cleave  a  skull,  at  first  has  merely  power  to 
chip  the  egg. 

ROWING    IN    THE    SAME    BOAT. 

"  We  row  in  the  same  boat,  you  know,"  said  a  literary 
friend  to  Jerrold.  This  literary  friend  was  a  comic 
writer,  and  a  comic  writer  only. 

Jerrold  replied,  "  True,  my  good  fellow,  we  do  row  in 
the  same  boat,  but  with  very  different  skulls." 

MILITARY    CATECHISM    FOR    YOUNG    LADIES. 

Q. — What  is  a  soldier  ? 

A. — If  in  the  infantry,  a  dear ;  if  in  the  cavalry,  a 
duck. 

Q. — Who,  of  all  men,  best  deserve  the  fair? 

A. — The  brave. 

Q. — Why  should  a  woman  prefer  a  soldier  above  all 
other  male  creatures  ? 

A. — Because  he  wears  such  a  very  handsome  dress  ; 
carries  gold  upon  his  shoulders  ;  gold  all  over  his  coat ; 
wears  a  sword  at  his  side,  and  a  love  of  a  feather  in  his 
helmet  or  cap. 


206  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

Q. — What  is  the  noblest  work  of  woman  ? 

A. — The  work  in  regimental  colours. 

Q. — And  when  does  she  appear  to  the  best  advantage, 
as  the  refining  comforter  of  man  ? 

A. — When,  having  worked  the  aforesaid  colours,  she, 
in  an  appropriate  speech  about  glory,  to  the  regiment, 
presents  them. 

Q. — Describe  your  notion  of  military  glory. 

A. — A  review  in  Hyde  Park. 

Q. — And  laurels  ? 

A. — A  ball,  and  supper  afterwards. 

"the  best  of  husbands." 
This  is  a  very  rare  animal ;  but  he  is  to  be  found. 
The  existence  of  the  unicorn  has  been  successfully  dis- 
puted ;  and  that  very  handsome  and  graceful  animal, 
instead  of  being  harnessed  to  Her  Majesty's  state  car- 
riage, as  assuredly  the  species  should  be,  could  eight  of 
them  be  procured,  is  merely  employed  upon  heraldic  duty  ; 
namely,  to  support  Her  Majesty's  arms.  But  the  good 
husband — let  all  our  virgin  readers  take  heart — is  not 
fabulous.  We  cannot,  certainly,  make  out,  with  the 
degree  of  precision  that  in  things  of  value  we  love,  his 
habitat.  We  do  not  think  the  creature  is  to  be  found  at 
public  masquerades,  or  billiard-rooms,  or  in  soiled  boots 
dancing  the  polka  at  the  Casino  de  Venus,  de  Bacchus,  or 
any  other  casino  of  any  other  disreputable  heathen  deity. 
The  habits,  too,  of  the  best  of  husbands  vary  with  the 
best  of  wives.  Some  are  best  for  one  particular  virtue — 
some  for  another — and  some  for  virtues  too  numerous  to 
specify.  Some  best  of  husbands  are  always  buying  best 
of  wives  new  gowns  ;  some  best,  again,  are  continually 
taking  their  better-best  to  the  opera  or  play ;  in  fact,  in 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  207 

ten  thousand  different  modes  do  the  best  of  husbands  show 
their  superiority  to  the  second-best,  and  the  middling, 
and  the  fine  ordinary,  and  those  merely  good  for  families. 
But  Mr.  Brown,  the  best  husband  of  the  best  Mrs. 
Brown,  did — according  to  that  excellent  woman — in  the 
most  devoted  manner,  display  the  paramount  excellence  of 
his  marital  qualities.  Mrs.  Brown  herself,  only  on  Thurs- 
day last,  informed  her  dear  friend  Mrs.  Smith,  of  the 
peculiarity  that  blest  her  with  the  best  of  men.  Mrs. 
Smith  had  dropped  in  to  talk  of  nothing,  and  have  a  dish 
of  tea.  Mrs.  Smith  had  left  her  bonnet,  muff,  and  cloak, 
in  Mrs.  Brown's  bed-room,  and  was  seated  at  Mrs. 
Brown's  fire.  Mrs.  Smith  put  her  hands  to  her  head, 
and  softly  sighed. 

Mrs.  Brown. — What's  the  matter,  my  dear  ?  You 
don't  look  well ;  nothing  particular,  I  hope  ? 

Mrs.  Smith. — Oh,  no  !  nothing.  Only  Smith  again, 
as  usual. 

Mrs.  Brown. — Poor  thing !  "Well,  I  do  pity  you.  What 
is  it? 

Mrs.  Smith. — Oh !  my  love,  that  club.  He  wasn't 
home  till  two  this  morning,  and  I  sitting  up,  and — yes, 
but  you  are  a  happy  woman — 'tis  no  doubt,  now,  that, 
Mr.  Brown 

Mrs.  Brown. — Bless  you,  my  dear  !  He  was  reading 
the  paper  to  me  all  the  evening. 

Mrs.  Smith. — Ha !  Mr.  Brown  is  a  good  man. 

d/rs.  Brown. — A  good  man,  my  dear  ?  If  I  were  to 
tell  you  all,  you  would  say  so.  In  fact,  he's  the  best  of 
husbands  ;  and  one  little  thing  will  prove  it. 

Mrs.  Smith. — What's  that,  Mrs.  Brown  ? 

Mrs.  Brown. — Why  this,  Mrs.  Smith.  You  wouldn't 
once  think  it  of  the  dear,  kind  soul ;  but  he's  so  fond  of 


208  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

me,    that   all   this  bitter  cold  weather,   he  always   goes 

up   first  to  bed,  to warm  my  place  !     Now,  I  call 

that 

Mrs.  Smith  (raising  her  eyes  and  folding  her  hands, 
exclaims) — The  Best  of  Husbands. 

THE    KIT    AND    FIDDLE. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  ?  "  said  Brougham  to  Sib- 
thorp,  "  we  shall  be  just  overrun  with  Tom  Thumbs  and 
pigmies  ;  Scotland  even  threatens  us  to  send  us  a  whole 
kit  of  dwarfs  ?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  exclaimed  the  great  colonel,  "  she 
may  send  us  the  hit,  so  long  as  she  keeps  the  Jiddle." 

A    MAN    OF    DOUBTFUL    ORIGIN. 

Of  a  mysterious  gentleman  who  spoke  many  languages, 
and  all  equally  well,  and  whose  native  country  could  not 
be  ascertained,  Jerrold  said,  "  It's  my  faith  he  was  born 
in  a  balloon." 

TRUE    PATRIOTISM. 

The  ''  new  piece  "  was  over,  and  the  audience  were 
delighted.  Jones  sat  silent  and  motionless.  "  How  is  it, 
Jones,"  said  Brown,  "  you  do  not  applaud  the  new 
drama  ?  " 

"  Brown,"  replied  Jones,  "  I  am  an  Englishman  and  a 
patriot ;  how  then  can  I  applaud  these  frequent  successes 
of  the  French  ?  " 

AN    OBLIGING    OFFER. 

(A  Chemist's  Shop — Shopman  and  Old  Lady.) 
Old  Lady. — Now,  are  v,ou  sure  this  is  carbonate  of 
soda — not  arsenic  ? 

Shopman. — Quite  certain,  ma'am, — try  it. 


JEREOLD'S  WIT.  209 

ABSENCE  OF  MIND,  AND  MONEY  TOO. 

"  Call  that  a  kind  man  ?  "  said  an  actor  in  the  Hay- 
market  green-room  of  a  mauvais  sujet  who  was  in  the 
habit  of  neglecting  his  kindred, — "  a  man  who  is  away 
from  his  wife  and  family,  and  never  sends  them  a  far- 
thing !     You  call  that  kindness  ! " 

"  Yes,  unremitting  kindness,"  chimed  in  Jerrold. 

A    MORNING   IN    "  THE    BARBEIi's    CHAIR." 

Scene : — A  Barber's  Shop  in  Seven  Dials. 

Nutts  {the  barber)  shaving  Nosebag.  Pucker,  Bleak, 
Tickle,  Slowgoe,  Nightflit,  Limpt,  and  other 
customers  come  in  and  go  out. 

Nightjiit. — Any  news  Mr.  Nutts?  Nothing  in  the 
paper  ? 

Nutts. — Nothing. 

Nightjiit. — Well,  I'm  blest  if,  according  to  you,  there 
ever  is  !  If  an  earthquake  was  to  swallow  up  London 
to-morrow,  you'd  say  "  There's  nothing  in  the  paper,  only 
the  earthquake  !  " 

Nutts. — The  fact  is,  Mister  Nightflit,  I've  had  so  much 
news  in  my  time,  I've  lost  the  flavour  of  it — couldn't 
relish  anything  weaker  than  a  battle  of  Waterloo,  now; 
even  murders  don't  move  me — no,  not  even  the  pictures 
of  'em  in  the  newspapers,  with  murderer's  hair  in  full 
curl,  and  a  dress-coat  on  him,  as  if  blood,  like  prime 
Twankay,  was  to  be  recommended  to  the  use  of  families. 

Tickle. — There  you  go  again,  Nutts,  always  biting  at 
human  natur.     It's  only  that  we're  used  to  you,  else  I 
don't  know  who'd  trust  you  to  shave  him. 
14 


210  JEREOLD'S  WIT. 

Slowgoe. — Tell  me,  is  it  true  what  I  have  heard — are 
the  Whigs  really  in  ? 

Nutts. — In  !  Been  in  so  long,  they're  half  out  by  this 
time  !  As  you're  always  so  long  after  everybody  else,  I 
wonder  you  ain't  in  with  'em. 

Bleak. — Come  now — I  was  born  a  Whig,  and  won't 
stand  it !  In  the  battle  of  the  constitution,  arn't  the  Whigs 
always  the  foremost  ? 

Nutts. — Why,  as  in  other  battles,  that  sometimes  de- 
pends upon  how  many  are  pushing  'em  behind. 

Tickle. — There's  another  bite  !  Why,  Nutts,  you  don't 
believe  good  of  nobody.  What  a  cannibal  you  are  !  It's 
my  belief  you'd  live  on  human  'arts. 

Nutts. — Why  not?  It's  what  half  the  world  lives 
upon — Whigs  and  Tories !  'Tell  you  what !  you  see 
them  two  cats  ;  one  of  them  I  call  Whig,  and  t'other 
Tory — they  are  so  like  the  two-legged  ones.  You  see  Whig 
there,  a-wiping  his  whiskers — well,  if  in  the  night  he  kills 
the  smallest  mouse  that  ever  squeaked,  what  a  clatter  he 
does  kick  up — he  keeps  me  and  my  wife  awake  for 
hours ;  and  sometimes — now  this  is  so  like  a  Whig — to 
catch  a  mouse  not  worth  a  fardin,  he'll  bring  down  a  row 
of  plates,  or  a  teapot,  or  a  punch-bowl,  worth  half  a 
guinea;  and  in  the  morning,  when  he  shows  us  the 
measly  little  mouse,  doesn't  he  put  up  his  back,  and  purr 
as  loud  as  a  bagpipe,  and  walk  in  and  out  my  legs  for  all 
the  world  as  if  the  mouse  was  a  dead  rhinoceros  !  Doesn't 
he  make  the  most  of  a  mouse  that's  hardly  worth  lifting 
with  a  pair  of  tongs  and  throwing  in  the  gutter  ?  Well, 
that's  Whig  all  over.  Now  there's  Tory  lying  all  along 
the  hearth,  and  looking  as  innocent  as  though  you  might 
shut  him  up  in  a  dairy  with  nothing  but  his  word  and 
honour.     Well,  when  he  kills  a  mouse,  he  makes  hardly 


JEREOLD'S   WIT.  211 

any  noise  about  it.  But,  this  I  will  say — he's  a  little 
greedier  than  Whig ;  he'll  eat  the  varmint  up,  tail  and 
all.  No  conscience  for  that  matter.  Bless  you,  I've 
known  him  make  away  with  rats  that  he  must  have  lived 
in  the  same  house  with  for  years. 

Bleak. — Well,  I  hate  a  man  that  has  no  party.  Every 
man  that  is  a  man  ought  to  have  a  side. 

Nutts. — Then  I'm  not  a  man  ;  for  I'm  all  round  like  a 
ninepin.  That  will  do,  Mr.  Nosebag.  Now,  Mister 
Slowgoe,  I  believe  you're  next.  {Slowgoe  takes  the 
chair.) 

Slowgoe. — Is  it  true  what  I  have  heard,  that  the  Duke 
of  Wellington  (a  great  man  the  Duke,  only  Catholic 
'mancipation  is  a  little  speck  upon  him) — is  it  true  that 
the  Duke's  to  have  a  'questrian  statue  on  the  Hyde  Park 
arch  ? 

Tickle. — Why  it  was  true,  only  the  cab  and  'bus  men 
have  petitioned  Parliament  against  it.  They  said  it  was 
such  bad  taste.     Would  frighten  their  horses  ! 

Slowgoe. — Shouldn't  wonder.  And  what's  become  of 
it? 

Tickle. — Why,  it's  been  at  livery  in  the  Harrow-road, 
eating  its  head  off,  these  two  months.  Sent  up  the  iron 
trade  wonderful.  Tenpenny  nails  are  worth  a  shilling 
now. 

Slowgoe. — Dear  me  !  how  trade  fluctuates  ;  and  what 
will  Government  do  with  it  ? 

Tickle. — Why,  Mr.  Hume's  going  to  cut  down  the 
army  estimates — going  to  reduce  'em — on  Life  Guards- 
men, one  of  the  two  that  always  stand  at  the  Horse 
Guards,  and  vote  the  statue  of  the  Duke  there  instead. 
Next  to  being  on  the  top  of  an  arch,  the  best  thing,  they 
Bay,  is  to  be  under  it.     Besides,  there's   economy  ;  for 


212  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

Mr.  Hume  has  summed  it  up ;  and  in  two  hundred  years, 
two  days,  and  three  hours,  the  statue — bought  at  cost 
price,  for  the  horse  is  going  to  the  dogs — will  be  cheaper 
by  five  and  twopence  than  a  Life  Guardsman's  pay  for 
the  same  time. 

Slowgoe. — The  Duke's  a  great  man ;  and  it's  my 
opinion 

Nutts. — Never  have  an  opinion  when  you're  being 
shaved.  If  you  whobble  your  tongue  in  that  way  I  shall 
nick  you.  'Sorry  to  do  it ;  but  can't  wait  for  your  opin- 
ion. 'Have  a  family,  and  must  go  on  with  my  business. 
Any  thing  doing  at  the  playhouses,  Mr.  Nosebag  ? 

Nosebag. — Well,  I  don't  know ;  not  much.  I  go  on 
sticking  their  bills,  in  course,  as  a  matter  of  business ; 
but  I  never  goes.  Fash'nable  hours — for  now  I  always 
teas  at  seven — won't  let  me.  As  I  say,  I  stick  their 
posters,  but  I  hav'n't  the  pride  in  'em  I  used  to  have. 

Tickle. — How's  that,  Nosey? 

Nosebag. — Why,  seriously,  they  have  so  much  gam- 
mon. I've  stuck  "  Overflowing  Houses "  so  often,  I 
wonder  I  hav'n't  been  washed  off"  my  feet !  And  then 
the  "  Tremendous  Hits  "  I've  contin'ally  had  in  my  eye  ! 
— oh,  for  a  lover  of  the  real  drama — you  don't  know  my 
feelings  ! 

Nutts. — The  actors  do  certainly  bang  away  in  large 
type,  now. 

Nosebag. — The  worst  of  it  is,  Mr.  Nutts,  there  seems  a 
fate  in  it :  for  the  bigger  the  type,  the  smaller  the  player. 
I  could  show  you  a  j>lay-bill  with  Mr.  Garrick's  name  in 
it,  not  the  eighth  of  an  inch.  And  now,  if  you  want  to 
measure  on  the  wall  "  Mr.  Snooks,  as  Hamlet,"  why  you 
must  take  a  three-foot  rule  to  do  it.  Don't  talk  on  it. 
The  players  break  my  heart ;  but  I  go  on  sticking  'em,  of 
course. 


JERROLD'S    WIT.  213 

Nutts. — To  be  sure ;  business  before  feelings.  Have 
you  seen  Miss  Rayskall,  the  French  actress,  at  the  St 
James's  ? 

Nosebag. — Not  yet.  I'm  waiting  till  she  goes  to  the 
Aymarket. 

Tickle. — But  she  isn't  agoing  there. 

Nosebag. — Isn't  she  ?  How  can  she  help  it  ?  Being 
of  the  French  stage,  somebody's  safe  to  translate  her. 

Tickle. — Ha !  so  I  thought.  But  all  the  French  players 
have  been  put  upon  their  guard ;  and  there  isn't  one  of 
'em  will  go  near  the  Draymatic  Authors'  Society  without 
two  policemen 

Pucker. — Well,  I'm  not  partic'lar ;  but  really,  gen'lmen, 
to  talk  in  this  way  about  plays  and  players — on  a  Sunday 
morning  too — is  a  shocking  waste  of  human  life.  I  was 
about  to  say, 

Nutts. — Clean  as  a  whistle,  Mr.  Slowgoe.  Mr.  Tickle, 
now  for  you.      {Tickle  takes  the  chair.) 

Pucker. — I  was  about  to  say,  it's  sich  encouragement 
to  £0  a  soldiering — this  flogging  at  Hounslow. 

Nutts. — Yes  ;  it's  glory  turned  a  little  inside  out.  For 
my  part,  I  shall  never  see  the  ribands  in  the  hat  of  a 
recruiting  soldier  again — the  bright  blue  and  red — that  I 

©  ©  © 

shan't  think  of  the  weals  and  cuts  in  poor  White's  back. 

Pucker. — Or  his  bz-oken  heart-strings  ! 

Nutts. — What  a  very  fine  thing  a  soldier  is,  isn't  he  ? 
See  him  in  all  his  feathers,  with  his  sword  at  his  side,  a 
sword  to  cut  laurels  with ;  and,  in  my  'pinion,  all  the 
laurels  in  the  world  was  never  worth  a  bunch  of  whole- 
some water-cresses.  See  him,  I  say,  dressed  and  pipe- 
clayed, and  polished,  and  turned  out  as  if  a  soldier  was 
as  far  above  the  working  man  as  a  working-man's  above 
his  dog.     See  him  in  all  his  parade  furbelows,  and  what  a 


214  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

splendid  cretur  he  is,  isn't  he  ?  How  stupid  'prentices 
gape  at  him,  and  feel  their  foolish  hearts  thump  at  the 
drum  parchment  as  if  it  was  played  upon  by  an  angel 
out  of  heaven  !  And  how  their  blood — if  it  was  as  poor 
as  London  milk  before — burns  in  their  bodies ;  and  they 
feel  for  the  time — and  all  for  glory — as  if  they  could  kill 

their  own  brothers.     And  now  the  women 

Female  voice  {from  the  back). — What,  are  you  talking 
about  the  women,  Mr.  Nutts  ?  Better  go  on  with  your 
shaving,  like  a  husband  and  a  father  of  a  family,  and 
leave  the  women  to  themselves. 

Nutts. — Yes,  my  dear.  {Confidentially.) — You  know 
my  wife  ?     Strong-minded  cretur. 

Pucker. — For  my  part,  to  say  nothin'  against  Mrs. 
Nutts,  I  hate  women  of  strong  minds.  To  me,  they 
alwavs  seem  as  if  they  wanted  to  be  men,  and  couldn't. 
I  love  women  as  women  love  babies — all  the  better  for 
their  weakness. 

Nosebag. — Go  on  about  the  sojer. 
Nutts  {in  a  low  voice). — As  for  women,  isn't  it  dread- 
ful to  think  how  they  do  run  after  the  pipe-clay  ?  See 
'em  in  the  park,  if  they  don't  stare  at  rank-and-file,  and 
fall  in  love  with  hollow  squares  by  the  heap  ;  it  is  so  nice, 
they  think,  to  walk  arm-in-arm  with  a  bayonet.  Poor 
gals !  I  do  pity  'em.  I  never  see  a  nice  young  woman 
courtin'  a  soldier — or  the  soldier  courting  her,  as  it  may 
be — that  I  don't  say  to  myself, — "  Ha  !  it's  very  well,  my 
dear. '  You  think  him  a  sweet  cretur,  no  doubt ;  and  you 
walk  along  with  him  as  if  you  thought  the  world  ought  to 
shake  with  the  sound  of  his  spurs,  and  the  rattling  of  his 
Bword ;  and  you  hold  on  to  his  arm  as  if  he  was  a  giant 
that  was  born  to  take  the  wall  of  everybody  as  wasn't 
sweetened  with  pipe-clay.     Poor  gal !     You  little  think 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  215 

that  that  fine  fellow — that  tremendous  giant — that  noble 
cretur  with  mustarshis  to  frighten  a  dragon,  may,  to-morrow 
morning,  be  strip  of  his  skin,  and  tied  up,  and  lashed  till 
his  blood — his  blood,  dearer  to  you  than  the  blood  in  your 
own  good-natured  heart — till  his  blood  runs,  and  his  skin's 
(ut  from  him  ;  and  his  officer,  who  has  been,  as  he  says, 
'devilishly'  well  whipt  at  school,  perhaps,  and  therefore 
thinks  flogging  very  gentlemanly — and  his  officer  looks 
on  with  his  arms  crossed,  as  if  he  was  looking  at  the 
twisting  of  an  opera-dancer,  and  not  at  the  struggling 
and  shivering  of  one  of  God's  mangled  creturs  ;  and  the 
doctor  never  feels  the  poor  soul's  pulse  (because  there  is 
no  pulses  among  privates) — and  the  man's  taken  to  the  hos- 
pital to  live  or  to  die,  according  to  the  farriers  that  lashed 
him.  You  don't  think,  poor  gal,  when  you  look  upon 
your  sweetheart,  or  your  husband,  as  it  may  be — that 
your  sweetheart,  or  the  father  of  your  children — may  be 
tied  and  cut  up  this  way  to-morrow  morning,  and  only  for 
saying  '  Hallo ! '  in  the  dark,  without  putting  a  '  sir '  at 
the  tail  of  it.  No  ;  you  never  think  of  this,  young  wo- 
man ;  or  a  red  coat,  though  with  ever  so  much  gold  lace 
upon  it,  would  look  like  so  much  raw  flesh  to  you." 

Nosebag. — I  wonder  the  women  don't  get  up  a  Anti- 
Bayonet  'Sociation — take  a  sort  of  pledge  not  to  have  a 
sweetheart  that  lives  in  fear  of  a  cat. 

Sloiogoe. — Doesn't  the  song  say,  "  None  but  the  brave 
desarve  the  fair  ?  " 

Nosebag. — Well,  can't  the  brave  desarve  the  fair  with- 
out desarving  the  cat-o'-nine-tails  ? 

Nutts. — It's  sartainly  a  pity  they  should  go  together. 
I  only  know  they  shouldn't  have  the  chance  in  my  case, 
if  I  was  a  woman. 

Mrs.  Nutts  (from  within). — I  think,  Mr.  Nutts,  you'd 
better  leave  the  women  alone,  and 


216  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

Nutts. — Certainly,  my  dear.  {Again  confidentially.) — 
She's  not  at  all  jealous  ;  but  she  can't  bear  to  hear  me 
say  any  thing  about  the  women.  She  has  such  a  strong 
mind !  Well,  I  was  going  to  say,  if  I  was  a  sojer,  and 
was  flogged 

Nosebag. — Don't  talk  any  more  about  it,  or  I  shan't 
eat  no  dinner.     Talk  of  somethin'  else. 

Slowgoe. — Tell  me,  is  it  true  what  I  have  heard? 
Have  they  christened  the  last  little  princess  ?  And  what's 
the  poppet's  name? 

Nosebag. — Her  name  ?  Why  Hel-ena  Augusta  Vic- 
toria. 

Sloivgoe. — Bless  me !     Helleena. 

Nosebag. — Nonsense  !  You  must  sound  it  Hel — there's 
a  goin'  to  be  a  act  of  Parliament  about  it.  Hel — with  a 
haccent  on  the  first  synnable. 

Slowgoe. — What's  a  accent  ? 

Nosebag. — Why,  like  as  if  you  stamped  upon  it. 
Here's  a  good  deal  about  this  christening  in  this  here 
newspaper ;  printed,  they  do  say,  by  the  'thority  of  the 
Palace.  The  man  that  writes  it  wears  the  royal  livery : 
scarlet  run  up  and  down  with  gold.  He  says  (reads) — 
"  The  particulars  of  this  interesting  event  are  subjoined  ; 
and  they  will  be  perused  by  the  reader  with  all  the 
attention  which  the  holy  rite,  as  well  as  the  lofty  rank  of 
the  parties  present,  must  command." 

Nutts. — Humph  !  "  Holy  rite  "  and  "  lofty  rank,"  as 
if  a  little  Christian  was  any  more  a  Christian  for  being 
baptized  by  a  archbishop  !      Go  on. 

Nosebag. — Moreover,  he  says  (reads) — "  the  ceremony 
was  of  the  loftiest  and  most  magnificent  character,  befit- 
ting in  that  respect  at  once  the  service  of  that  all-power- 
ful God  who  commanded  his  creatures  to  worship  Him  in 
pomp  and  glory,  under  the  old  law  " 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  217 

Nutts. — Hallo  !  Stop  there.  "What  have  we  to  do 
with  the  "  old  law "  in  Christianity  ?  I  thought  the 
"  old  law  "  was  only  for  the  Jews.  Isn't  the  "  old  law  " 
repealed  for  Christians  ? 

Nosebag. — Be  quiet.  {Reads.)  "  The  water  was  brought 
from  the  river  of  Jordan  " 

Nutts. — Well,  when  folks  was  christened  there,  I 
think  there  was  no  talk  about  magnificence  ;  not  a  word 
about  the  pomp  of  the  old  law.  Don't  read  it  through. 
Give  us  the  little  nice  bits  here  and  there. 

Nosebag. — Well,  here's  a  procession  with  field-marshals 
in  it,  and  major-generals,  and  generals. 

Nutts. — There  warn't  so  much  as  a  full  private  on  the 
banks  of  the  Jordan. 

Nosebag. — And  "  the  whole  of  the  costumes  of  both 
ladies  and  gentlemen  were  very  elegant  and  magnificent ; 
those  of  the  former  were  uniformly  white,  of  valuable 
lace,  and  the  richest  satins  and  silks.  The  gentlemen 
were  either  in  uniform  or  full  court  dress." 

Nutts. — Very  handsome,  indeed ;  much  handsomer  than 
any  coat  of  camel's  hair. 

Nosebag. — The  Master  of  the  Royal  Buck-hounds  was 
present. 

Nutts. — With  his  dogs  ? 

Nosebag. — Don't  be  wicked  ;  and  "  the  infant  princess 
was  dressed  in  a  rich  robe  of  Honiton  lace  over  white 
satin." 

Nutts. — Stop.  What  does  the  parson  say  ?  "  Dost 
thou,  in  the  name  of  this  child,  renounce  the  devil  and 
all  his  works,  the  vain  pomp  and  glory  of  this  world  ?  " 

Nosebag.  (Heads.)  "  The  Duke  of  Norfolk  appeared 
in  his  uniform  as  Master  of  the  Horse.  The  Duke  of 
Cambridge   wore    the   orders   of   the    Garter,   the    Bath, 


218  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

and  St.  Michael  and  St.  George.     Earl  Granville  ap- 
peared " 

Mitts.  That  will  do.  There  was  no  "vain  pomp," 
and  not  a  bit  of  "  glory." 

A   MASTER    OR    A    MISTRESS. 

Jerrold  met  a  well-known  picture-collector,  whom  he 
knew,  on  Waterloo  Bridge.  The  collector  was  possessed 
with  a  passion  for  Richard  Wilson's  pictures,  and,  on  the 
occasion  in  question,  asserted  that  the  canvas  he  had 
under  his  arm  was  a  veritable  example  of  his  favourite 
master,  Avhich  he  had  just  picked  up  in  the  Waterloo- 
road.  Popping  the  picture  against  the  parapet  of  the 
bridge,  he  drew  Jerrold's  attention  to  its  evidences  of 
authenticity. 

"  See,  Jerrold — with  those  trees — that  sky — it  must  be 
a  Richard  Wilson." 

"  Well,"  Jerrold  replied,  "  considering  the  locality 
where  you  found  it,  are  you  sure  it  isn't  a  Harriet 
Wilson  ?  " 

ENGLISH    CHARACTERISTICS. 

We  English  are  not  a  very  emotional  people ;  even 
when  we  do  feel  very  strongly,  we  nevertheless  think  it 
good  breeding  to  betray  nothing  of  the  matter.  We  are 
apt  to  treat  even  a  great  feeling  as  the  Spartan  boy 
treated  the  fox  hidden  under  his  garment,  suffering  it  to 
prey  upon  our  very  bowels  rather  than  by  an)-  word, 
gesture,  or  expression,  to  discover  what- we  are  harbour- 
ing. This  is  our  insular  characteristic.  We  all  of  us 
have  it  more  or  less,  from  the  duke  to  the  duke's  foot- 
man ;  the  excess  of  outward  indifference  being  the  allowed 
test  of  the  highest  breeding.     Educate  a  man  into  the 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  219 

insensibility  of  a  post,  and  you  make  him  a  perfect  gen- 
tleman ;  render  a  young  lady  seemingly  pulseless  as  a 
prize  turnip,  and  she  is  the  perfection  of  the  very  choicest 
female  nature.  This  is  the  discipline  of  high  life  in  its 
very  highest :  but  the  frost  descends  to  the  very  roots  of 
society.  We  button  up  our  hearts  as  we  button  up  our 
great  coats,  all  the  more  resolutely  if  our  hearts,  like  our 
great-coat  pockets,  happen  to  have  any  thing  valuable  in 
them. 

IN   MEMORY    OF    MR.    JUSTICE    TALFOURD. 

Never  did  more  fervent  wishes  for  a  long,  and  there- 
fore honoured,  enjoyment  of  a  new  dignity,  accompany  a 
man  to  the  bench  than  went  with  Sir  Thomas  Noon  Tal- 
fourd.  Good  men  rejoiced  at  this  elevation,  as  at  the 
reward  of  goodness ;  and  the  literary  intellect  of  the 
country  beheld,  with  grateful  pride,  that  man  in  the  judg- 
ment seat  who,  of  all  men,  had  best  vindicated  the  sacred 
right  of  intellect  to  its  own  brain-work.  Many  years 
were  wished,  were  confidently  hoped,  for  Judge  Tal- 
fourd  ;  and  with  them,  honours  and  happiness  manifold. 
It  has  pleased  Almighty  God  to  rule  jt  otherwise.  That 
pure  hand,  which  held  the  balance,  is  now  of  the  clod  of 
the  valley  ;  and  that  tongue,  whose  very  last  accents, 
pleaded  for  the  sacred  rights  of  human  nature  to  the  com- 
passion and  brotherly  sympathy  of  brother  man — "  that 
tongue  is  now  a  stringless  instrument."  Peace  and  the 
growing  reverence  of  the  world  be  with  his  ashes  !  No 
man  was  ever  wept  by  a  greater  number  of  friends,  and 
no  man  ever  died  bequeathing  to  those  of  his  name  and 
blood  a  more  sacred  treasure  in  a  reputation  for  good- 
iK  --.  gentleness,  unswerving  truth,  than  the  poet  judge 
Thomas  Noon  Talfourd.     May  his  memory  remain  and 


220  JEEROLD'S    WIT. 

flourish  green  as  his  laurels,  as  his  life  was  spotless  as  his 
ermine. 

THE    DEBT    OF    ALL. 

All  have  a  debt  to  pay  that  it  is  allowed  to  us  to  put 
off,  as  long  as  human  foresight  and  human  providence 
may  enable  us  to  defer ;  seeing  that,  defer  and  postpone 
and  procrastinate  as  we  may,  the  debt  must  and  will  be 
paid — for  Death  is  the  creditor.  Therefore,  assuming  to 
the  full  our  privilege  of  putting  off,  when  prudence  and 
knowledge  can  effect  the  postponement,  the  payment  of 
the  inevitable  debt,  it  is  the  solemn  duty  of  every  man  to 
"  set  his  house  in  order."  He  may  sleep  under  gilding, 
or  under  thatch  ;  he  may  dwell  in  a  palace  or  a  cabin  ; 
nevertheless,  it  is  alike  onerous  upon  him  to  set  his  house 
in  order ;  for  otherwise — nay,  even  in  despite  of  his  best 
prudence,  his  most  vigilant  watchfulness, — who  shall  se- 
cure to  him  the  enjoyment  of  the  tenancy  of  such  habita- 
tion, be  it  of  marble  or  of  mud  ? 

SCHISM   AND    REPENTANCE. 

A  young  author,  somewhat  too  proud  of  a  religious 
work  he  had  written,  entitled  "  Schism  and  Kepentance," 
wrote  to  Jerrold,  begging  him  to  subscribe  for  a  copy. 
Jerrold  replied  that  "  he  might  put  him  down  for  '  Schism ' 
by  all  means,  but  he  would  advise  him  to  keep  '  Eepent- 
ance '  for  his  publishers  and  readers." 

THE    GOSPEL    AND    THE   BAYONET. 

Let  us  pay  all  honour  to  fighting  men  ;  all  needful 
honour.  In  our  transition  state,  they  are  our  best  guar- 
antees of  national  freedom.  But  let  us  hope  that  the 
Gospel  has  a  brighter  light  than  that  which  gleams  from 
bayonets.     Gunpowder  is  not  the  best  frankincense. 


JERROLD'S   WIT.  221 

MERIT,    AND    NOT    FAVOUR. 

"  Merit,  and  not  favour,  should  be  the  ground  of  ad- 
vancement." How  beautiful  in  their  justice  are  these 
words,  recently  put  forth  by  a  public  officer  high  in  posi- 
tion ;  and  how  excellent  for  the  country  if  made  appli- 
cable to  all  public  men  of  all  conditions  !  Merit,  and  not 
favour !  Let  this  golden  rule  be  the  rule  of  govern- 
ment, and  great  indeed  must  be  the  change.  Why,  the 
backstairs  themselves  would  vanish  like  sunset  clouds, 
and  merit  only  tread  the  broad  and  open  path  to  sure 
preferment. 

SAINT    SUCCESS. 

The  Roman  calendar  is  very  full  of  saints,  full  as  the 
one-shilling  gallery  on  the  trial  night  of  a  pantomime.  In 
their  mortal  day,  too,  not  a  few  of  the  canonized  have 
been  as  noisy — sometimes,  moreover,  about  as  sweet- 
mouthed — as  the  holiday  gods  at  a  shilling  or  sixpence  a 
head.  Nevertheless,  with  a  crowded  calendar,  the  world 
still  requires  another  saint — we  mean  Saint  Success  !  ~SYe 
know  that  the  virtue  of  success  (for  all  success  is  virtue, 
vice  being  inevitably  confined  to  failure)  is,  after  a  man- 
ner, canonized ;  but  we  would  have  a  solemn  beatification 
of  success  as  Saint  Success,  and  no  other ;  for  he  who 
can  have  success  for  his  protecting  saint  may  renounce 
all  other  influences,  human  or  divine.  Steep  success 
in  blood,  and  there  may  be  found  even  bishops  to  kneel 
to  it. 

THE    BOY    AND    TBTE    MAN. 

The  relation  of  the  man  to  the  boy  is  a  solemn  matter. 
Helpless,  and  appealing   for  aid  and  teaching,  the  boy 


222  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

turns  his  baby  face  to  the  man,  and  bids  him  write  good 
lessons  upon  the  fair  tablet  of  his  mind.  Very  solemn 
indeed  is  the  relation  of  the  man  to  the  boy  ;  and  appal- 
ling is  the  crime  of  that  man  who  violates  its  sanctity, 
destroying  God's  truth  that  is  in  the  boy,  by  precepts  of 
wicked  purpose. 

TEA. 

Tea,  with  the  flowers  and  scents  of  the  warm  East  in 
it,  with  something  hearty  and  of  a  downright  domestic 
quality  in  its  vivifying  effect !  Of  the  social  influence 
of  tea,  in  truth,  upon  the  masses  of  the  people  in  this 
country,  it  is  not  very  easy  to  say  too  much.  It  has 
civilized  brutish  and  turbulent  homes,  saved  the  drunkard 
from  his  doom,  and  to  many  a  mother,  who  would  else 
indeed  have  been  most  wretched  and  most  forlorn,  it  has 
given  cheerful,  peaceful  thoughts  that  have  sustained  her. 
Its  work  among  us  in  England  and  elsewhere — aye, 
throughout  the  civilized  world — has  been  humanizing — 
good.  Its  effect  has  been,  upon  us  all,  something  socially 
healthful ;  something  that  is  peaceful,  gentle,  and  hearty. 
The  passionate  drinker  may  sit  by  his  fire,  watch  his 
kettle,  and  in  the  stream  of  steam  rolling  away  from  it, 
see  all  the  fallen  idols  of  the  East  tumbling  about ;  the 
long-eared,  long-nailed  goddesses  unceremoniously  ban- 
died hither  and  thither ;  the  gaudy  temples  broken  up  ; 
the  priests  disbanded. 

A    MODEL    POLICEMAN. 

The  policeman  stands  in  a  peculiar  position,  and  not  in 
a  very  pleasant  position.  He  may  not  mix  unreservedly 
with  his  own  class ;  he  is  not  like  a  common  labourer, 
who,  his  work  being  done,  wends  his  way  to  the  gathering 


JERKOLD'S  WIT.  223 

at  which  he  has  a  certain  influence  and  standing.  He 
may  be  the  idol  of  servant-maids,  but  he  is  not  welcome 
among  most  men.  His  temptations  are  great ;  he  is 
offered  bribes  every  day  of  his  life.  Upon  his  honesty 
depends  the  safety  of  thousands.  He  may  wink  at  a 
burglary,  turn  his  back  upon  any  petty  peculation,  and  his 
reward  is  at  hand.  He  may  not  choose  to  observe  brawls 
in  public-houses  ;  he  may  liberate  drunkards  nightly. 
And  then  how  strong  must  be  his  nature  to  resist,  when 
a  fairy  from  the  area  railings  whispers  to  him  "  roast 
goose,"  beckons,  and  vanishes  !  In  truth,  to  be  an  honest 
policeman,  he  must  be  a  model  man. 

WATER. 

0 

Water,  like  wine  and  fire,  is  an  excellent  servant,  but  a 
bad  master.  An  enthusiast  may  become  quite  as  noisy, 
and,  in  his  enthusiasm,  as  absurd,  at  a  pump  as  at  a  wine- 
cask. 

LEGITIMACY   IN    FRANCE. 

What  is  legitimacy  at  this  hour  in  France  but  a  worn- 
out  Madame  Saqui  that  would  still  profit  by  the  balance 
of  power,  and  still,  though  palsy-shaken,  dance  on  the 
tight-rope  ? 

THE    PARROT    OP    ST.    PAUL'S. 

The  following  advertisement  appeared  the  other  day  in 
a  morning  paper : — 

"  Parrot  Found,  on  the  dome  of  St.  Paul's,  July 
16th.  Full  description  of  size,  age,  colour,  and  sayings,  to 
be  sent  by  letter  to " 

This  parrot  is  no  common  thing  in  feathers,  but  a 
parrot  of  omen  alighted,  as  in  the  olden  days  did  storks 


224  JEEEOLD'S  WIT. 

and  eagles,  on  towers  and  temples,  in  augury  of  good  or 
evil.  Our  churches,  in  so  far  as  birds  are  concerned,  are 
for  the  shelter  and  comfort  of  honest,  homely  jackdaws — 
of  birds  of  one  plain,  simple  hue.  Now,  when  gaudy 
parrots — parrots,  like  tulip-beds,  of  all  colours — perch 
upon  cathedral  domes,  we  know  too  well  what  they  are 
intended  to  symbolize,  and  do  most  earnestly  pray  that 
the  warning  may  not  be  lost  upon  the  episcopal  mind,  and 
upon  all  nominal  Protestant  parsons,  sniffing,  with  Roman 
noses,  towards  the  Seven  Hills. 

A   NAVAL    REVIEW. 

The  stuff  that  makes  navies — the  bone  and  blood  of 
Englishmen, — with  the  indomitable  spirit  that  is  their 
vitality,  is  still  as  constant  to  England  as  are  the  waves 
that  hitherto  have  sanctified  our  shores.  No  man,  let 
him  be  of  the  highest  intellectual  power  and  the  most 
generous  sympathies,  or  of  plodding  mind  and  selfish 
instincts,  but  must  have  acknowledged  in  that  great  sea 
solemnity  a  lesson  elevating  and  assuring.  The  man's 
heart  must  have  been  no  more  than  a  pebble  on  the  beach 
that  did  not  palpitate  with  sympathy,  as  towards  living 
things,  towards  those  glorious  ships,  seemingly  so  instinct 
with  life,  so  majestic  with  the  might  of  power — beautiful, 
terribly  fascinating,  as  were  the  evolutions  of  those  tre- 
mendous vessels — sublime  manifestations  of  the  working 
mind  and  working  arm  of  England.  When  these  ships 
blazed  and  roared  with  the  lightning  and  thunder  of 
battle,  they  uttered  a  lesson  that,  stirring  to  its  depths,  as 
with  a  terrible  rapture,  the  human  nature  of  the  listener, 
was  yet  to  be  heard  in  prolonged,  though  whispering, 
dying  echoes,  in  the  back  parlour  of  the  smallest  English 
shopkeeper — in  the  poorest  cottage  of  the  humblest 
peasant. 


JEREOLD'S  WIT.  225 

mechanics'  institutes. 
The  Mechanics'  Institute  is  the  saving  school  for  £.  s.  d. 
— a  school  alike  for  youth,  manhood,  and  old  age.  In  the 
Mechanics'  Institute  the  scholars,  who  began  and  finished 
their  lessons  on  the  forms  of  the  infant  school,  have  les- 
sons ever  beginning,  never  ending — knowledge  still  widen- 
ing like  circles  in  water.  In  that  institute  the  students, 
trained  by  early  teaching,,  early  prudence,  may  find  that, 
whatever  be  the  varieties,  the  inequalities  of  life,  there  is 
a  common  ground  where  all  men  may  meet,  may  know 
and  be  strengthened  with  the  assurance  that  there  are 
intellectual  pleasures,  lights  of  knowledge,  as  widely  open 
and  as  free  to  all  men,  as  are  the  skies  above  them  and 
the  sunlight  around  them. 

SELF-RESPECT. 

That  a  man  should  be  just  and  respectful  towards  all 
mankind,  he  must  first  begin  with  himself.  A  man — so 
to  speak — who  is  not  able  to  make  a  bow  to  his  own 
conscience  every  morning  is  hardly  in  a  condition  to 
respectfully  salute  the  world  at  any  other  time  of  the  day. 

QUEEN    MARIA    OF    PORTUGAL. 

She  was  a  good  wife,  an  affectionate  mother,  and  a 
weak,  volatile  queen.  With  no  strength  of  character  to 
vindicate  the  high  duties  of  her  position,  she  suffered  her- 
self to  become  the  tool  of  party ;  and  with  an  admiration 
of  constitutional  liberty  upon  her  lips,  in  her  practice  she 
held  to  the  old  bigotry  of  legitimacy.  She  had  virtues 
for  a  private  station,  but  wanted  the  qualities  of  a  consti- 
tutional queen.     Good  at  the  fireside,  she  was  a  mere 

negation  on  the  throne. 

15 


22 G  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

ECONOMY    AND    WASTE. 

When  articles  are  too  cheap,  we  squander  them,  and 
"  where  there's  plenty,  put  plenty  in  the  pot,"  says  an  old 
fireside  adage,  that  has,  we  think,  a  comfort  and  jollity 
in  the  sound  of  it ;  plenty  being  as  distinct  from  wasteful- 
ness as  a  whole  sack  full  of  wheat,  and  a  sack  with  a  hole 
in  it  for  the  wheat  to  run  through.  But  fivepence,  ac- 
cording to  the  theory  of  some — fivepence  for  a  quartern 
loaf — produces  waste,  whilst  elevenpence  must  engender 
thrift.  Fivepence  is  a  spendthrift,  elevenpence  is  a  care- 
ful economist !  Therefore,  up  with  prices  ;  for  with  them 
up  go  the  fireside  virtues  ! 

DIPLOMACY. 

Negotiation  between  nations  is,  no  doubt,  for  a  time, 
wise,  and  good,  and  patriotic,  but,  too  finely  spun,  becomes 
a  weakness  and  a  mischief.  Diplomacy  shall  work  as 
much  calamity  as  a  battle :  a  few  ink-drops,  seemingly 
innocent,  shall  cost  a  nation  more  misery,  more  eventual 
wretchedness  and  exhaustion,  than  a  river  of  blood. 

MY   PARTICULAR    FRIEND. 

Said  an  individual  to  Jerrold  one  evening  in  a  green- 
room— 

"  I  believe  you  know  a  very  particular  friend  of  mine  ? 
Mrs. ?  " 

Now  Mrs.  Blank  was  remarkable  for  beauty,  but  it  was 
the  beauty  of  Venus,  by  no  means  that  of  Diana. 

"  I  have  met  with  an  actress  named  Mrs.  Blank,"  re- 
plied Jerrold,  "  but  she  cannot  be  the  particular  friend 
you  allude  to." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Individual,  "  it  is  the  same 
person." 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  227 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  Jerrold  replied,  "  the  lady  I  speak 
of  is  not  very  particular." 

FIRESIDE    SAINTS. 

St.  Patty  was  an  orphan,  and  dwelt  in  a  cot  with  a  sour 
old  aunt.  It  chanced,  it  being  bitter  cold,  that  three  hun- 
ters came  and  craved  for  meat  and  drink.  "  Pack  !  "  said 
the  sour  aunt,  "  neither  meat  nor  chink  have  ye  here." 
"  Neither  meat  nor  drink,"  said  Patty,  "  but  something 
better."  And  she  ran  and  brought  some  milk,  some  eggs, 
and  some  flour,  and  beating  them  up,  poured  the  batter 
in  the  pan.  Then  she  took  the  pan  and  tossed  the  cake 
over  ;  and  then  a  robin  alighted  at  the  window,  and  kept 
singing  these  words — One  good  turn  deserves  another. 
And  Patty  tossed  and  tossed  the  cakes  :  and  the  hunters 
ate  their  fill  and  departed.  And  next  day  the  hunter 
baron  came  in  state  to  the  cot ;  and  trumpets  were  blown, 
and  the  heralds  cried —  One  good  turn  deserves  another  ; 
in  token  whereof  Patty  became  the  baron's  wife,  and 
pancakes  were  eaten  on  Shrove  Tuesday  ever  after. 

ST.    SALLY. 

St.  Sally,  from  her  childhood,  was  known  for  her  inner- 
most love  of  truth.  It  was  said  of  her  that  her  heart  was 
in  a  crystal  shrine,  and  all  the  world  might  see  it.  More- 
over, when  other  women  denied,  or  strove  to  hide  their 
age,  St.  Sally  said,  "/  am  five-and-thirty."  Whereupon 
next  birthday,  St.  Sally's  husband,  at  a  feast  of  all  their 
friends,  gave  her  a  necklace  of  six-and-thirty  opal  beads : 
and  on  every  birthday  added  a  bead,  until  the  beads 
mounted  to  foarscore  and  one.  And  the  beads  seemed  to 
act  as  a  charm ;  for  St.  Sally  wearing  the  sum  of  her  age 
about  her  neck,  age  never  appeared  in  her  face.     Such, 


228  JEEROLD'S   WIT. 

in   the   olden    time,  was   the   reward   of  simplicity   and 
truth. 

ST.    BETSY. 

St.  Betsy  was  wedded  to  a  knight  who  sailed  with 
Raleigh  and  brought  home  tobacco ;  and  the  knight 
smoked.  But  he  thought  that  St.  Betsy,  like  other  fine 
ladies  of  the  court,  would  fain  that  he  should  smoke 
out  of  doors,  nor  taint  with  'bacco-smoke  the  tapestry. 
Whereupon  the  knight  would  seek  his  garden,  his  orchard, 
and  in  any  weather  smoke  sub  Jove.  Now  it  chanced  as 
the  knight  smoked,  St.  Betsy  came  to  him  and  said,  "  My 
lord,  pray  ye  come  into  the  house."  And  the  knight  went 
with  St.  Betsy,  who  took  him  into  a  newly-cedared  room, 
and  said,  "  I  pray  my  lord,  henceforth  smoke  here  :  for  is 
it  not  a  shame  that  you,  who  are  the  foundation  and  the 
prop  of  your  house,  should  have  no  place  to  put  your 
head  into  and  smoke  ? "  And  St.  Betsy  led  him  to  a 
chair,  and  with  her  own  fingers  filled  him  a  pipe  ;  and 
from  that  time  the  knight  sat  in  the  cedar-chamber  and 
smoked  his  weed. 

ST.    PHILLIS. 

St.  Phillis  was  a  virgin  of  noble  parentage,  but  withal 
as  simple  as  any  shepherdess  of  curds  and  cream.  She 
married  a  wealthy  lord,  and  had  much  pin-money.  But 
when  other  ladies  wore  diamonds  and  pearls,  St.  Phillis 
only  wore  a  red  and  white  rose  in  her  hair.  Yet  her 
pin-money  brought  the  best  of  jewelry  in  the  happy  eyes 
of  the  poor  about  her.  St.  Phillis  was  rewarded.  She 
lived  until  fourscore,  and  still  carried  the  red  and  white 
rose  in  her  face,  and  left  their  fragrance  in  her  memory. 


JERROLD'S  WIT.  229 

ST.    PHCEBE. 

St.  Phoebe  was  married  early  to  a  wilful,  but  withal  a 
good-hearted,  husband.  He  was  a  merchant,  and  would 
come  home  sour  and  sullen  from  'change.  Whereupon, 
after  much  pondering,  St.  Phoebe  in  her  patience,  set  to 
work,  and  praying  the  while,  made  of  dyed  lambswool  a 
door-mat.  And  it  chanced  from  that  time,  that  never  did 
the  husband  touch  that  mat  that  it  didn't  clean  his  tem- 
per with  his  shoes,  and  he  sat  down  by  his  Phoebe  as  mild 
as  the  lamb  whose  wool  he  had  trod  upon.  Thus  gentle- 
ness may  make  miraculous  door-mats  ! 

ST.    NORAH. 

St.  Norah  was  a  poor  girl,  and  came  to  England  to 
service.  Sweet-tempered  and  gentle,  she  seemed  to  love 
everything  she  spoke  to  ;  and  she  prayed  to  St.  Patrick 
that  he  would  give  her  a  good  gift  that  would  make  her 
not  proud,  but  useful ;  and  St.  Patrick,  out  of  his  own 
head,  taught  St.  Norah  how  to  boil  a  potato — a  sad  thing, 
and  to  be  lamented,  that  the  secret  has  come  down  to  so 
few. 

ST.    BECKY. 

A  very  good  man  was  St.  Becky's  husband,  but  with 
his  heart  a  little  too  much  in  his  bottle.  Port  wine — red 
port  wine — was  his  delight,  and  his  constant  cry  was — 
bee's-wing.  Now  as  he  sat  tipsy  in  his  arbour,  a  wasp 
dropt  into  his  glass,  and  the  wasp  was  swallowed,  stinging 
the  man  inwardly.  Doctors  crowded,  and  with  much  ado 
the  man  was  saved.  Now  St.  Becky  nursed  her  husband 
tenderly  to  health,  and  upbraided  him  not ;  but  she  said 
these  words,  and  they  reformed  him  :     "  My  dear,  take 


230  JERROLD'S  WIT. 

wine,  and  bless  your  heart  with  it — but  wine  in  modera- 
tion :  else,  never  forget  that  the  bee's-wing  of  to-day  be- 
comes the  wasp's  sting  of  to-morrow." 

ST.    LILY. 

St.  Lily  was  the  wife  of  a  poor  man,  who  tried  to  sup- 
port his  family — and  the  children  were  many — by  writing 
books.  But  in  those  days  it  was  not  as  easy  for  a  man  to 
find  a  publisher  as  to  say  his  paternoster.  Many  were 
the  books  that  were  written  by  the  husband  of  St.  Lily ; 
but  to  every  book  St.  Lily  gave  at  least  two  babes. 
However,  blithe  as  the  cricket  was  the  spirit  that  ruled 
about  the  hearth  of  St.  Lily.  And  how  she  helped  her 
helpmate  !  She  smiled  sunbeams  into  his  ink-bottle,  and 
turned  his  goose-pen  to  the  quill  of  a  dove !  She  made 
the  paper  he  wrote  on  as  white  as  her  name,  and  as  fra- 
grant as  her  soul.  And  when  folks  wondered  how  St. 
Lily  managed  so  lightly  with  fortune's  troubles,  she 
always  answered,  that  she  never  heeded  them,  for — 
troubles  were  like  babies,  and  only  grew  the  bigger  by 
nursing. 

ST.    FANNY. 

St.  Fanny  was  a  notable  housewife.  Her  house  was  a 
temple  of  neatness.  Kings  might  have  dined  upon  her 
staircase  !  Now  her  great  delight  was  to  provide  all 
things  comfortable  for  her  husband,  a  hard-working  mer- 
chant, much  abroad,  but  loving  his  home.  Now  one 
night  he  returned  tired  and  hungry,  and,  by  some  mis- 
chance, there  was  nothing  for  supper.  Shops  were  shut ; 
and  great  was  the  grief  of  St.  Fanny.  Taking  off  a 
bracelet  of  seed-pearl,  she  said  :  "  I'd  give  this  ten  times 
over  for  a  supper  for  my  husband  !  "     And  every  pearl 


JEBEOLD'S  WIT.  231 

straightway  became  an  oyster  ;  and  St.  Fanny  opened — 
the  husband  ate — and  lo !  in  every  oyster  was  a  pearl  as 
big  as  a  hazel-nut ;  and  so  was  St.  Fanny  made  ri  :h 
for  life. 

ST.    DOLLY. 

At  an  early  age  St.  Dolly  showed  the  sweetness  of  her 
nature  by  her  tender  love  for  her  widowed  father,  a 
baker,  dwelling  at  Pie-corner,  with  a  large  family  of 
little  children.  It  chanced  that  with  bad  harvests  bread 
became  so  dear,  that,  of  course,  bakers  were  ruined  by 
high  prices.  The  miller  fell  upon  Dolly's  father,  and 
swept  the  shop  with  his  golden  thumb.  Xot  a  bed  was 
left  for  the  baker  or  his  little  ones.  St.  Dolly  slept  upon 
a  flour-sack,  having  prayed  that  good  angels  would  help 
her  to  help  her  father.  Now  sleeping,  she  dreamt  that 
the  oven  was  lighted,  and  she  felt  falling  in  a  shower 
about  her,  raisins,  currants,  almonds,  lemon-peel,  flour, 
with  heavy  drops  of  brandy.  Then  hi  her  dream  she 
saw  the  fairies  gather  up  the  things  that  fell,  and  knead 
them  into  a  cake.  They  put.  the  cake  into  the  oven,  and 
dancing  round  and  round,  the  fairies  vanished,  crying, 
"  Draw  the  cake  Dolly — Dolly,  draw  the  cake  !  "  And 
Dolly  awoke  and  drew  the  cake,  and,  behold,  it  was  the 
first  twelfth-cake,  sugared  at  the  top,  and  bearing  the 
images  of  Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity.  Now  this  cake, 
shown  in  the  window,  came  to  the  king's  ear ;  and  the 
king  bought  the  cake,  knighted  the  baker,  and  married 
Dolly  to  his  grand  falconer,  to  whom  she  proved  a  faith- 
ful and  loving  wife,  bearing  him  a  baker's  dozen  of  lovely 
children. 

ST.    FLORENCE    OR    ST.    NIGHTINGALE. 

St.  Florence,  by  her  works,  had  her  lips  Messed  with 


232  JERROLD'S   WIT. 

comforting,  and  her  bands  touched  with  healing ;  and  she 
crossed  the  sea,  and  built  hospitals,  and  solaced,  and  re- 
stored. And  so  long  as  English  mistletoe  gathers  be- 
neath it  truthful  hearts,  and  English  holly  brightens 
happy  eyes,  so  long  will  Englishmen,  at  home  or  abroad, 
on  land  or  on  the  wave — so  long,  in  memory  of  that  East- 
ern Christmas,  will  they  cry — "  God  bless  St.  Florence  ! 
Bless  St.  Nightingale  I  " 

ST.    JENNY. 

St.  Jenny  was  wedded  to  a  very  poor  man  ;  they  had 
scarcely  bread  to  keep  them  ;  but  Jenny  was  of  so  sweet 
a  temper  that  even  want  bore  a  bright  face,  and  Jenny 
always  smiled.  In  the  worst  seasons  Jenny  would  spare 
crumbs  for  the  birds,  and  sugar  for  the  bees.  Now  it  so 
happened  that  one  autumn  a  storm  rent  their  cot  in 
twenty  places  apart;  when,  behold,  between  the  joists^ 
from  the  basement  to  the  roof,  there  was  nothing  but 
honeycomb  and  honey— a  little  fortune  for  St.  Jenny  and 
her  husband,  m  honey.  Now  some  said  it  was  the  bees, 
but  more  declared  it  was  the  sweet  temper  of  St.  Jenny 
that  had  filled  the  poor  man's  house  with  honey. 


The  fallowing  paper  appeared  in  the  London  Atheticeiun 
a  few  days  after  the  death  of  Douglas  Jerrold. 


Death  has  taken  from  among  us  a  man  of  vast  and  pecu- 
liar force.  Heroes  dwarf  in  the  eyes  of  their  valets  ;  distance 
lends  enchantment  to  the  view ;  but  Douglas  Jerrold  was  the 
greatest  marvel  to  those  who  knew  him  best.  His  reading  was 
wide,  and  his  memory  for  what  he  read  prodigious.  He  knew 
the  whole  of  Shakspeare  by  heart,  and  every  noble  line  or 
beautiful  image  in  Faust  and  the  Inferno  slept  within  his  lips 
like  the  charge  in  a  gun.  He  delighted  in  Eddas  and  Zenda- 
vestas,  in  the  lore  of  the  Rabbis,  in  science,  and  in  the  myste- 
ries of  the  schoolmen.  Lightfoot  was  familiar  to  him  as  Rabe- 
lais and  Montaigne,  Bacon  as  Fuller  and  Donne.  Yet  the 
powers  which  made  his  fame  were  native.  He  was  most 
widely  known  perhaps  by  his  wit;  for  wit  catches  the  sense 
like  a  torch  in  a  ravine,  even  though  the  gold  mines  may  lie 
unnoticed  close  by.  Prophets  who  bear  torches  through  the 
streets  will  draw  a  crowd  sooner  than  those  who  teach  the  wis- 
dom of  Solomon.  And  his  wit  was  very  nimble,  crackling,  and 
original.  No  man  could  resist  its  spontaneity  and  sparkle,  and 
it  wrote  its  daily  story  in  London  life  as  a  thing  apart  and  in- 
stitutional. But  his  wit,  however  brilliant,  was  not  his  finest 
gift.  Indeed,  in  his  serious  moments  he  would  laugh  at  his 
own  repartees  as  tricks — as  a  mere  habit  of  mind — which  he 
could  teach  any  dull  fellow  in  two  lessons !     His  wit  made  only 


234  DOUGLAS  JEEEOLD. 

one  side  of  his  genius — sprung  indeed  from  a  central  charac- 
teristic— the  extraordinary  rapidity  of  his  apprehension.  He 
saw  into  the  hearts  of  things.  He  perceived  analogies  invis- 
ible to  other  men.  These  analogies  sometimes  made  him 
merry,  sometimes  indignant.  And  as  he  never  hung  fire,  dull 
people  often  saw  his  wrath  before  they  understood  his  reason  ; 
and  they  blamed  him,  not  in  truth  because  he  was  wrong,  but 
because  they  were  slow. 

Jerrold  was  born  in  London  on  the  3d  of  January,  1803, 
while  Bonaparte  was  at  Boulogne,  and  London  was  in  the  riot 
of  anticipated  invasion.  He  was  christened  Douglas  William 
Jerrold,  Douglas  having  been  the  maiden  name  of  his  grand- 
mother. His  father,  Samuel  Jerrold,  was  manager  of  the  two 
theatres  of  Sheerness  and  Southend,  and  in  these  sea-places 
much  of  his  childhood  passed,  in  sight  of  ships,  breakers,  press- 
gangs,  theatrical  stars,  female  and  male,  black-eyed  damsels,  and 
prisoners  of  war.  He  was  the  son  of  his  father's  old  age,  and 
he  held  a  theory  that  the  children  of  old  men  are  always  ner- 
vous, facile,  and  short-lived.  Few  friends  or  playmates  of  his 
own  a«e  came  near  him  in  the  theatre  or  in  the  town  :  indeed, 
he  used  to  say  that  the  only  boy  he  knew  familiarly  at  Sheer- 
ness was  the  little  buoy  at  the  Nore.  Among  the  theatrical 
folks  who  played  on  his  father's  stage,  he  remembered  Edmund 
Kean  with  peculiar  vividness ;  for  the  descendant  of  Halifax 
pleased  him  by  carrying  him  on  the  boards  in  Holla,  and  still 
more  by  his  whimsicalities  in  the  pantomime.  He  appeared 
also  on  the  stage  with  Kean  as  the  Stranger's  child.  Author 
and  actor  came  together  afterwards  at  Drury  Lane — in  Jer- 
rold's  early  London  life  ;  Kean,  who  remembered  Jerrold,  gave 
him  orders  and  oranges,  and  Jerrold  paid  him  in  admiration 
and  epigrams.  Long  years  of  theatrical  success — some  quar- 
rels and  misunderstandings  never  cooled  the  ardour  with  which 
the  Author  of  "  Clovernook  "  always  spoke  of  the  great  artist 
who  had  been  gentle  to  him  when  a  boy. 

Jerrold's  school-days  were  few  and  the  results  of  his  studies 
at  Sheerness  unimportant.  He  used  to  say,  with  a  merry  mel- 
ancholy, that  the  only  prize  he  carried  home  from  school  was  a 


DOUGLAS  JERROLD.  235 

prize  ringworm.  In  all  ways,  he  was  considered  a  dull  boy ; 
at  nine  years  of  age  he  could  scarcely  read.  Breakers  were 
the  books  which  he  liked  to  study.  Frigates  rolling  past  the 
Nore,  and  the  grand  tramp  of  war  in  Belgium,  where  Bona- 
parte was  staking  his  last  card,  drew  his  imagination  towards 
the  sea — conquering  for  a  time  even  his  passion  for  oil  lamps, 
property  men,  and  the  hot  applause  of  the  family  theatre.  To 
sea  he  would  go  and  fight  the  French, — entering  His  Majesty's 
service  as  a  midshipman  on  board  the  Namur.  Middies  in 
those  days  had  not  learnt  to  drink  claret,  smoke  cigars,  and 
quote  Keats;  and  the  mess-room  was  any  thing  but  a  cross  be- 
tween a  boudoir  in  Park  Lane  and  a  hole  in  a  Cyder  Celler. 
The  life  was  rough,  the  usage  hard,  the  dissipation  slight.  Sea 
life  was  then  a  passion — it  is  now  only  a  sentiment.  Some- 
thing of  Nelson's  genius  has  passed  into  the  navy — inextin- 
guishable hate  of  the  French.  Jerrold  caught  this  fury — 
natural  enough  to  a  boy  born  in  the  panic  of  invasion  and 
trained  in  a  war-port;  and  to  his  last  year  there  remained  in 
his  writing  and  in  his  conversation  a  pulse — so  to  say — a  breath 
— a  suspicion — now  taking  a  literary,  now  a  social,  now  a  po- 
litical form — of  that  stern  religion  of  the  English  in  1804. 
Though  he  afterwards  lived  in  France  for  years,  educated  his 
children  there,  and  spoke  its  language  with  the  readiness  of  a 
practised  jester,  he  never  seemed  to  forget  his  blue  cap  and 
gold  band,  but  rattled  among  the  fish  wives  of  Boulogne  and 
the  flower-girls  of  Paris  with  the  benignant  vivacity  of  a  middy 
just  stepped  ashore.  His  commander,  Captain  Austen,  brother 
of  the  great  novelist,  was  fond  of*  theatricals,  and  the  officers 
got  up  private  plays.  A  man  before  the  mast  painted  the 
scenery,  and  Jerrold  superintended  the  stage.  That  man  be- 
fore the  mast  was  Stanfield,  our  incomparable  marine  artist. 
When  Jerrold  was  transferred  to  another  ship,  they  parted 
company, — to  meet  again  after  long  years  on  the  stage  of 
Drury  Lane,  where  Stanfield  was  painting  scenery  for  "  The 
Rent  Day."  Out  of  these  youthful  recollect  ions  arose,  we  be- 
lieve, that  series  of  amateur  theatricals  which  introduced  the 
extraordinary  histrionic  genius  of  Mr.  Dickens  and  Mr.  Mark 


236  DOUGLAS   JERROLD. 

Lemon  to  the  public,  which  secured  honourable  means  to  two 
veteran  authors,  and  made  the  charm  of  so  many  London  sea- 
sons. A  party  of  friends  were  walking  over  Richmond  Park, 
chatting  of  other  days,  when  Jerrold  cries — "  Let's  have  a 
play,  Mr.  Stanfield,  like  we  had  on  board  the  Namur."  Mr. 
Dickens  took  up  the  tale  and  was  acclaimed  manager  ;  "  Every 
Man  in  his  Humour  "  was  selected,  the  parts  were  cast,  and  the 
row  began. 

After  a  few  months  Jerrold  returned  to  shore,  and  came  to 
London  in  search  of  fortune.  He  found  it  in  a  printer's  office, 
in  a  court  leading  from  Salisbury  Square  ;  to  the  proprietors 
of  which  he  was  bound  'prentice.  Working  steadily,  and  in 
process  of  time  a  master  in  the  mechanism  of  his  craft,  he 
nevertheless  only  considered  this  employment  as  a  means  to 
something  higher.  At  this  time,  though  the  hours  of  labour  were 
long,  and  there  were  no  compositors'  reading-rooms  for  leisure 
moments,  he  attacked  Latin  and  Italian  ;  rose  at  three  in  the 
morning  to  construe  Virgil  and  Livy,  and  passed  stormy  hours 
with  grammarians  and  glossaries  before  he  commenced  work 
with  the  heavy  leaders  and  light  sketches  of  the  periodical  press 
— the  productions  of  people  enjoying  fame  and  pay  for  writings, 
in  which  his  quick  eye  detected  the  weak  points  and  the  faded 
splendours.  He  began  to  scribble  verse  as  socn  as  he  learned 
to  write ;  and  his  sonnets,  epigrams,  and  songs  appeared  in  the 
sixpenny  magazines  of  the  day.  He  was  then  a  mere  boy, 
and  looked,  indeed,  like  a  child.  An  American  writer,  one 
of  those  gentlemen  from  over  sea  who  print  Citizen  of  the 
World  on  their  cards  and  invent  pen-and-ink  portraits  of  cele- 
brities they  have  never  spoken  with,  once  described  him  as  a 
tiny  man  who  walked  up  the  Strand  fumbling  his  thunderbolts. 
Tiny  he  was :  and  before  his  fine  fell  of  hair  grisled  into  a  lion's 
mane,  he  seemed  almost  infantile  in  the  delicate  mould  of  his 
face  and  the  exquisite  beauty  of  his  expression.  Emboldened 
by  success,  he  wrote  for  the  stage,  to  which  he  felt  a  family 
call,  and  produced  clouds  of  pieces  ere  he  was  twenty- — some 
of  which  still  keep  the  stage,  like  "  More  frightened  than  Hurt," 
performed  at   Sadler's  Wells.      He   engaged   with   Davidge, 


DOL'GLAS   JERROLD.  237 

then  manager  of  the  Cobu'rg,  to  produce  pieces  at  a  salary ; 
and  some  of  his  plays  at  this  time,  hastily  composed,  and  as  he 
thought  unworthy  of  his  powers,  appeared  under  the  name  of 
Mr.  Henry  Brownrig.  In  consequence  of  quarrels  he  went 
from  the  Coburg  Theatre  to  the  Surrey,  with  "  Black-Eyed 
Susan  "  in  his  hand.  He  had  brought  from  the  quarter-deck 
of  the  Namur  a  love  of  the  sea  and  a  knowledge  of  the  service, 
which  he  turned  to  account  on  the  stage  and  in  his  general 
writings.  Salt  air  sweeps  through  these  latter  like  a  breeze 
and  a  perfume.  "  Black-Eyed  Susan,"  the  most  successful  of  his 
naval  plays,  was  written  when  he  was  scarcely  twenty  years 
old, — a  piece  which  made  the  fortune  of  the  Surrey  Theatre, — 
restored  Elliston  from  a  long  course  of  disastrous  mismanage- 
ment,— and  gave  honour  and  independence  to  T.  P.  Cooke. 
Indeed,  no  dramatic  work  of  ancient  or  modern  days  ever 
reached  the  success  of  this  play.  It  was  performed,  without 
break,  for  hundreds  of  night.  All  London  went  over  the  wa- 
ter, and  Cooke  became  a  personage  in  society,  as  Garrick  had 
been  in  the  days  of  Goodman's  Fields.  Covent  Garden  bor- 
rowed the  play,  and  engaged  the  actor,  for  an  after-piece.  A 
hackney  cab  earned  the  triumphant  William,  in  his  blue  jacket 
and  white  trousers,  from  the  Obelisk  to  Bow  Street ;  and  May- 
fair  maidens  wept  over  the  strong  situations  and  laughed  over 
the  searching  dialogue  which  had  moved  an  hour  before  the 
tears  and  merriment  of  the  Borough.  On  the  300th  night  of 
representation  the  walls  of  the  theatre  were  illuminated,  and 
vast  multitudes  filled  the  thoroughfares.  When  subsequently 
reproduced  at  Drury  Lane  it  kept  off  ruin  for  a  time  even 
from  that  magnificent  misfortune.  Actors  and  managers  fchroug  1 1- 
out  the  country  reaped  a  golden  harvest.  Testimonials  were 
got  up  for  Elliston  and  for  Cooke  on  the  glory  of  its  success. 
But  Jerrold's  share  of  the  gain  was  slight : — about  £70  of  the 
many  thousands  which  it  realized  for  the  management.  With 
unapproafhable  meanness,  Elliston  abstained  from  presenting 
the  youthful  writer  with  the  value  of  a  toothpick ;  and  Elliston's 
biographer,  with  a  kindred  sense  of  poetic  justice,  while  chaunt- 
ing  the  praises  of  Elliston  for  producing  "  Black-Eyed  Susan," 


238  DOUGLAS  JERROLD. 

forgets  to  say  who  wrote  the  play  !  When  the  drama  had  run 
300  nights,  Elliston  said  to  Jerrold,  with  amusing  coolness, 
"  My  dear  boy,  why  don't  you  get  your  friends  to  present  you 
with  a  bit  of  plate  ?  " 

Many  dramas,  comic  and  serious,  followed  this  first  success — 
all  shining  with  points  and  colours.  Among  these  were  "  Nell 
Gvvynne,"  "  The  Schoolfellows,"  and  "  The  Housekeeper." 
Drury  Lane  opened  its  exclusive  doors  to  an  author  who  had 
made  fortune  and  fame  for  Elliston  and  Cooke.  But  Mr.  Os- 
baldiston,  who  oidy  timidly  perceived  the  range  and  sweej)  of 
the  youthful  genius  which  he  woed  to  his  green-room,  proposed 
the  adaptation  of  a  French  piece,  offering  to  pay  handsomely 
for  the  labour.  Adapt  a  French  piece  !  The  Volunteer  rose 
within  him,  and  he  turned  on  his  heel  with  a  snort.  Drury 
Lane  was  then  in  the  hands  of  the  French,  freshly  captured, 
and  the  boy  who  had  gone  to  sea  in  order  to  fight  Napoleon 
refused  to  serve  in  London  under  his  literary  marshals.  He 
returned  to  the  theatre  after  a  while  with  his  "Bride  of  Lud- 
gate,"  the  first  of  many  ventures  and  many  successes  on  the 
same  boards.  "  The  Mutiny  at  the  Nore  "  had  followed  the  first 
nautical  success,  and  his  minor  pieces  on  the  Surrey  side  con- 
tinued to  run  long  and  gloriously.  But  the  patent  theatres,  with 
a  monopoly  of  the  five-act  drama,  were  strongly  garrisoned  by 
the  French,  aided  by  native  troops  whom  they  had  raised, — 
and  some  of  whom,  such  as  Poole  and  Planche,  were  men  of 
great  technical  skill  and  facile  talent ;  and  he  never  felt  his 
feet  secure  in  either  theatre  until  the  production  of  his  "  Rent 
Day," — a  play  suggested  and  elaborated  from  Wilkie's  pictures. 
AVilkie  sent  him  a  handsome  letter  and  a  pair  of  proof  en- 
gravings with  his  autograph.  The  public  paid  him  still  more 
amply. 

A  selection  from  the  early  writings  for  the  stage,  made  by 
himself,  has  been  published  in  the  Collected  Edition  of  his 
works.  But  many  were  unjustly  condemned,  and  among  those 
rejected  plays  the  curious  seeker  will  find  some  of  the  most 
sterling  literary  gold.  His  wit  was  so  prodigal,  and  he  prized 
it  so  little,  save  as  a  delight  to  others,  that  he  threw  it  away 


DOUGLAS  JEREOLD.  239 

like  dust,  never  caring  for  the  bright  children  of  his  brain,  and 
smiling  with  complacent  kindness  at  people  who  repeated  to 
him  his  jests — as  their  own  !  At  the  least  demur,  too,  he  would 
surrender  his  most  happy  allusions  and  his  most  trenchant  hits. 
In  one  of  his  plays  an  old  sailor,  trying  to  snatch  a  kiss  from  a 
pretty  girl — as  old  sailors  will — got  a  box  on  the  ear.  "  There," 
exclaimed  Blue-jacket,  "  like  my  luck ;  always  wrecked  on  the 
coral  reefs  ! "  The  manager,  when  the  play  was  read  in  the 
green-room,  could  not  see  the  fun,  and  Jerrold  struck  it  out. 
A  friend  made  a  captious  remark  on  a  very  characteristic  touch 
in  a  manuscript  comedy — and  the  touch  went  out: — a  cynical 
dog  in  a  wrangle  with  his  much  better-half  said  to  her,  "  My 
notion  of  a  wife  of  forty  is,  that  a  man  should  be  able  to  change 
her,  like  a  bank-note,  for  two  twenties." 

The  best  part  of  many  years  of  his  life  was  given  up  freely 
to  these  theatrical  tasks, — for  his  genius  was  dramatic — his 
family  belonged  to  the  stage — and  his  own  pulpit,  as  he  thought, 
stood  behind  the  footlights.  His  father,  his  mother,  and  his 
two  sisters  all  adorned  the  stage ;  his  sisters,  older  than  himself, 
had  married  two  managers, — one  the  late  Mr.  Hammond,  an 
eccentric  humourist  and  unsuccessful  manager  of  Drury  Lane, 
— the  other,  Mr.  Copeland,  of  the  Liverpool  Theatre  Royal. 
He  himself  for  a  moment  retrod  the  stage,  playing  in  his  own 
exquisite  drama,  "  The  Painter  of  Ghent."  But  the  effort  of 
mechanical  repetition  wearied  a  brain  so  fertile  in  invention  ; 
and  he  happily  returned  to  literature  and  journalism,  only  to 
reappear  as  an  actor  in  the  plays  performed  by  the  amateurs 
at  St.  James'  Theatre  and  Devonshire  House. 

After  this  time  appeared,  in  succession,  the  greatest  and 
maturest  of  his  comedies.  In  "  The  Prisoner  of  War,"  in 
parts  cast  for  them,  the  two  Keeleys  harvested  their  highest 
comic  honours.  "Bubbles  of  a  Day"  followed, — the  most 
electric  and  witty  play  in  the  English  language ;  a  play  with- 
out story,  scenery,  or  character,  but  which,  by  mere  power  of 
dialogue,  by  flash,  swirl,  and  coruscation  of  fancy,  charmed 
one  of  the  most  intellectual  audiences  ever  gathered  in  the 
Haymarket.     Then  came  "  Time  works  Wonders,"  remark 


240  DOUGLAS  JERROLD. 

able  as  being  one  of  the  few  works  in  which  the  dramatist 
paid  much  attention  to  story.  "  The  Catspaw,"  produced  at 
the  Haymarket, — "  St.  Cupid,"  an  exquisite  cabinet  piece,  first 
produced  at  Windsor  Castle,  and  afterwards  at  the  Princess' 
Theatre,  with  Mrs.  Kean  in  Dorothy,  one  of  the  most  dainty 
and  tender  assumptions  of  this  charming  artist, — and  "  The 
Heart  of  Gold,"  also  produced  by  Mr.  Kean,  complete  the 
series  of  his  later  works.  We  are  glad  to  announce,  however, 
that  the  dramatist  has  left  behind  a  finished  five-act  comedy, 
with  the  title  of  "  The  Spendthrift,"  for  which  the  manage- 
ments should  be  making  early  inquiries. 

Contemporaneously,  he  had  worked  his  way  into  notice  as  a 
prose  writer  of  a  very  brilliant  and  original  type — chieflv 
through  the  periodicals.  His  passion  was  periodicity — the 
power  of  being  able  to  throw  his  emotions  daily,  or  weekly, 
into  the  common  reservoirs  of  thought.  Silence  was  to  him  a 
pain  like  hunger.  He  must  talk — act  upon  men — briefly, 
rapidly,  irresistibly.  For  many  years  he  brooded  over  the 
thought  of  Punch.  Pie  even  found  a  publisher — and  a  wood 
engraver — and  a  suitable  Punch  appeared, — but  the  publisher 
was  less  rich  in  funds  than  he  in  epigrams,  and  after  five  or 
six  numbers  the  bantling  died.  Some  time  later,  his  son-in- 
law,  Mr.  Mayhew,  revived  the  thought, — and  our  merry  com- 
panion— now  of  woi-ld-wide  name — appeared.  All  the  chief 
writings  of  our  author — except  "  A  Man  made  of  Money  " — 
saw  the  light  in  magazines,  and  were  written  with  the  devil 
at  the  door.  "  Men  of  Character  "  appeared  in  Blackwood's 
Magazine, — "The  Chronicles  of  Clovernook"  in  the  Illumi- 
nated Magazine,  of  which  he  was  founder  and  editor, — "  St. 
Giles  and  St.  James "  in  the  Shilling  Magazine,  of  which  he 
was  also  founder  and  editor, — and  "  The  Story  of  a  Feather," 
"  Punch's  Letters  to  his  Son,"  and  "  The  Caudle  Lectures  "  in 
Punch.  The  exquisite  gallery  of  Fireside  Saints  which  ap- 
pear in  Punch's  Almanack  for  the  present  year  is  from  his 
hand.  Most  of  these  works  bear  the  magazine  mark  upon 
them — the  broad  arrow  of  their  origin ;  but  the  magazine 
brand  in  this  case,  like  the  brands  of  famous  vintages,  if  testi- 


DOUGLAS  JERROLD.  241 

fying  to  certain  accidents  of  carriage,  attests  also  the  vigour  and 
richness  of  the  soil  from  which  they  come.  "  Clovernook  "  is 
less  perfect  as  a  work  of  art  than  many  a  book  born  and  for- 
gotten since  the  Hermit  fed  on  dainty  viands  and  discoursed 
of  sweet  philosophy.  Some  of  his  essays  contributed  at  an 
early  time  to  the  AlJienceum  and  to  Blackwood's  Magazine, 
rank  among  the  most  subtle  and  delicate  productions  of  his 
muse.  But  we  have  recently  devoted  a  long  article  to  the 
consideration  of  his  literary  merits,  and  need  not  repeat  in 
this  obituary  what  we  have  said  before  with  greater  leisure 
and  more  calmness  than  we  can  now  command. 

For  seven  years  past  he  had  devoted  himself  more  exclu- 
sively than  before  to  politics.  Politics,  indeed,  had  always 
attracted  him  as  they  attract  the  strong  and  the  susceptible. 
In  the  dear  old  days  when  Leigh  Hunt  was  sunning  himself 
in  Horse-monger  Lane  for  calling  George  the  Fourth  a  fat 
Adonis  of  forty,  and  the  like  crimes,  he  composed  a  political 
work — in  a  spirit  which  would  probably,  in  those  days,  have 
sent  him  to  Newgate.  The  book  was  printed,  but  the  publish- 
ers lacked  courage,  and  it  was  only  to  be  had  in  secret.  Only 
a  few  copies  are  extant.  Of  late  years  he  had  returned  to 
politics ;  as  a  writer  for  the  ballot  under  Mr.  Wakely,  and  as 
sub-editor  of  the  Examiner  under  Mr.  Fonblanque ;  returned 
to  find  his  opinions  popular  in  the  country  and  triumphant  in 
the  House  of  Commons.  Of  his  efforts  as  a  journalist  we 
need  not  speak.  He  found  Lloyd's  Newspaper,  as  it  were,  in 
the  street,  and  he  annexed  it  to  literature.  He  found  it  com- 
paratively low  in  rank,  and  he  spread  it  abroad  on  the  wings 
of  his  genius,  until  its  circulation  became  a  marvel  of  the 
press. 

We  have  neither  time  nor  heart  at  this  moment  to  draw  the 
portrait  of  the  deceased.  An  ampler  biography  will  not  long 
be  wanting:  in  which  those  who  knew  and  loved  him — and 
those  who  knew  him  best  loved  him  most — will  be  able  to  paint 
him  as  the  index  and  interpretation  of  his  work.  Yet,  even  at  a 
glance,  the  depth  of  his  insight,  the  subtlety  of  his  analysis,  the 
vividness  of  his  presentation  must  strike  every  one  who  reads. 
16 


242  DOUGLAS  JERROLD. 

His  place  among  the  wits  of  our  own  time  is  clear  enough.  He 
had  less  frolic  than  Theodore  Hook,  less  elaborate  humour  than 
Sydney  Smith,  less  quibble  and  quaintness  than  Thomas  Hood. 
But  he  surpassed  all  these  in  intellectual  flash  and  strength. 
His  wit  was  all  steel  points, — and  his  talk  was  like  squadrons 
of  lancers  in  evolution.  Not  one  pun,  we  have  heard,  is  to  be 
found  in  his  writings.  His  wit  stood  nearer  to  poetic  fancy 
than  to  broad  humour.  The  exquisite  confusion  of  his  tipsy 
gentleman,  who,  after  scraping  the  door  for  an  hour  with  his 
latch-key,  leans  back  and  exclaims,  "  By  Jove  !  some  scoundrel 
has  stolen — stolen — the  keyhole  ! "  comes  as  near  farce  as  any 
of  his  illustrations.  His  celebrated  definition  of  Dogmatism  as 
"  Puppyism  come  to  maturity  "  looks  like  a  happy  pun, — but  is 
something  far  more  deep  and  philosophic.  Between  this,  how- 
ever, and  such  fancies  as  his  description  of  Australia — "  A  land 
so  fat,  that  if  you  tickle  it  with  a  straw,  it  laughs  with  a  har- 
vest"— the  distance  is  not  great.  In  his  earlier  time,  before 
age  and  success  had  mellowed  him  to  his  best,  he  was  some- 
times  accused  of  ill-nature,  a  charge  which  he  vehemently  re- 
sented, and  which  seemed  only  ludicrous  to  those  privileged 
with  his  friendship.  To  folly,  pretence,  and  assumption  he 
gave  no  quarter,  though  in  fair  fight ;  and  some  of  those  who 
have  tried  lances  with  him  long  remembered  his  home  thrust. 
We  may  give  two  instances  without  offence,  for  the  combatants 
are  all  gone  from  the  scene.  One  of  those  playwrights  who 
occupied  Old  Drury,  under  the  French,  against  whom  he 
waged  ceaseless  war  of  epigram,  was  describing  himself  as  suf- 
fering from  fever  of  the  brain.  "  Courage,  my  good  fellow," 
says  Jerrold,  "  there  is  no  foundation  for  the  fact."  When  the 
flight  of  Guizot  and  Louis  Philippe  from  Paris  was  the  fresh 
talk  of  London,  a  writer  of  no  great  parts  was  abusing  the 
Revolution  and  pitying  Guizot.  "  You  see,"  he  observed, 
"  Guizot  and  I  are  both  historians — we  row  in  the  same  boat." 
"  Aye,  aye,"  says  Jerrold,  "  but  not  with  the  same  sculls."  Yet 
such  personal  encounters  were  but  the  play  of  the  panther. 
No  man  ever  used  such  powers  with  greater  gentleness.  In- 
deed, to  speak  the  plain  truth,  his  fault  as  a  man — if  it  be  a 


DOUGLAS  JERROLD.  243 

fault — was  a  too  great  tenderness  of  heart.  He  never  could 
say  No.  His  purse — when  he  had  a  purse — was  at  every  man's 
service,  as  were  also  his  time,  his  pen,  and  his  influence  in  the 
world.  If  he  possessed  a  shilling  somebody  would  get  sixpence 
of  it  from  him.  He  had  a  lending  look,  of  which  many  took 
advantage.  The  first  time  he  ever  saw  Tom  Dibdin,  that 
worthy  gentleman  and  song-writer  said  to  him — "  Youngster, 
have  you  sufficient  confidence  in  me  to  lend  me  a  guinea  '?  " — 
"  O  yes,"  said  the  author  of  "  Black-Eyed  Susan,"  "  I  have  all 
the  confidence,  but  I  haven't  the  guinea."  A  generosity  which 
knew  no  limit — not  even  the  limit  at  his  bankers — led  him  into 
trials  from  which  a  colder  man  would  have  easily  escaped.  To 
give  all  that  he  possessed  to  relieve  a  brother  from  immediate 
trouble  was  nothing ;  he  as  willingly  mortgaged  his  future  for  a 
friend  as  another  man  would  bestow  his  advice  or  his  blessing. 
And  yet  this  man  was  accused  of  ill-nature  !  If  every  one  who 
received  a  kindness  at  his  hands  should  lay  a  flower  on  his 
tomb,  a  mountain  of  roses  would  rise  on  the  last  resting-place 
of  Douglas  Jerrold. 

The  deceased  died,  after  a  few  days'  illness,  from  disease  of 
the  heart,  at  his  residence,  Greville  Place,  Kilburn  Priory,  on 
Monday  last,  the  8th  of  June.  No  first-class  portrait  exists 
of  the  deceased.  Mr.  Macknee,  of  Glasgow,  painted  him,  but 
the  likeness  is  a  failure.  Two  or  three  others  tried  their  hands, 
with  even  less  success.  Mr.  Mayall  and  Mr.  Watkins  have 
made  fair  photographs  of  an  extremely  difficult  face.  Dr. 
Diamond  has  also  obtained  some  excellent  studies, — taken  only 
a  few  days  before  his  death.  But  the  only  Art-memorial  which 
completely  and  truly  represents  Douglas  Jerrold  to  the  many 
who  are  left  to  mourn  his  decease,  is  Baily's  bust, — now  in  the 
Manchester  Exhibition  of  Art-Treasures. 

The  funeral  will  take  place  on  Monday,  at  Norwood  Ceme 
tery.     It  is  the  desire  of  the  family  that  it  should  be  strictly 
private.     The  friends  and  admirers  of  the  dead  will  assemble 
in  the  cemetery,  to  hear  the  funeral  service,  and  to  whisper 
over  the  grave  the  last  farewells  of  the  heart. 

THE    END. 


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May,  1858. 


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WILHELM  MEISTER.    Translated  by  Thomas  Caelyle.  2  vols. 

Price  $2.50. 
FAUST.    Translated  by  Hayward.    Price  75  cents. 
FAUST.    Translated  by  Charles  T.  Brooks.    Price  $1.00. 

R.  H.  STODDARD. 

POEMS.     Cloth.    Price  63  cents. 

ADVENTURES  IN  FAIRY  LAND.    Price  75  cents. 

SONGS  OF  SUMMER.    Price  75  cents. 


REV.  CHARLES  LOWELL,  D.  D. 

PRACTICAL  SERMONS.     1  vol.    12mo.    $1.25. 
OCCASIONAL  SERMONS.     With  fine  Portrait.    $1.25. 


GEORGE  LUNT. 

LYRIC  POEMS,  &c.     Cloth.    63  cents. 
JULIA.    A  Poem.    50  cents. 


PHILIP  JAMES  BAILEY. 

THE  MYSTIC,  AND  OTHER  POEMS.    50  cents. 
THE  ANGEL  WORLD,  &c.    50  cents. 


ANNA  MARY  HOWITT. 

AN  ART  STUDENT  IN  MUNICH.    Price  $1.25. 
A  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE.    A  Story.    Price  75  cents. 


MRS.  JAMESON. 

CHARACTERISTICS  OF  WOMEN.    Blue  and  gold.  75  ceuts. 

LOVES  OF  THE  POETS.  "  "  75  cents. 

DIARY  OF  AN  ENNUYEE.  "  "  75  cents. 

SKETCHES  OF  ART,  &c.  "  "  75  cents. 


BY   TIOKNOR    AND    FIELDS. 


MARY  RUSSELL  MITFORD. 

OUR  VILLAGE.    Illustrated.    2  vols.     16mo.     Price  $2.50. 
ATHERTON,  AND  OTHER  STORIES.     1  vol.    16mo.    $1.25. 


MRS.  CROSLAND. 

LYDIA:     A  WOMAN'S    BOOK.     Cloth.    Price  75  cents. 
ENGLISH  TALES  AND    SKETCHES.     Cloth.    $1.00. 
MEMORABLE  WOMEN.    Illustrated.     $1.00. 


GRACE  GREENWOOD. 

GREENWOOD  LEAVES.     1st  &  2d  Series.     $1.25  each. 
POETICAL   WORKS.     With  fine  Portrait.     Price  75  cents. 
HISTORY  OF   MY    PETS.     With  six  fine  Engravings.     Scarlet 
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RECOLLECTIONS   OF   MY  CHILDHOOD.     With  six  fine  En- 
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HAPS    AND    MISHAPS    OF    A  TOUR    IN   EUROPE.     Price 

$1.25. 
MERRIE  ENGLAND.     A  new  Juvenile.     Price  75  cents. 
A   FOREST  TRAGEDY,  AND  OTHER  TALES.     $1.00. 
6TORIES  AND  LEGENDS.    A  new  Juvenile.    Price  75  cents. 


MRS.    MOWATT. 

AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  AN  ACTRESS.    Price  $1.25. 
PLAYS.     ARMAND  AND  FASHION.     Price  50  cents. 
MIMIC  LIFE.     1  vol.    Price  $1.25. 
THE  TWIN  ROSES.    1vol.     Price  75  cents. 


A   LIST    OF    BOOKS    PUBLISHED 


MRS.    HOWE. 

PASSION  FLOWERS.     Price  75  cents. 
WORDS  FOR  THE  HOUR.     Price  75  cents. 
THE  WORLD'S  OWN.    Price  50  cents. 

JOSIAH  PHILLIPS  QUINCY. 

LYTERIA:     A  Dramatic  Poem.     Price  50  cents. 
CHARICLES:    A  Dramatic  Poem.    Price  60  cents. 

ALICE  CARY. 

POEMS.     1  vol.     16mo.     Price  $1.00. 
CLOVERNOOK  CHILDREN.     With  Plates.    75  cents. 

MRS.    ELIZA    B.    LEE. 

MEMOIR  OF  THE  BUCKMINSTERS.  $1.25. 
FLORENCE,  The  Parish  Orphan.  50  cents 
PARTHENIA.     1vol.     16mo.     Price  $1.00. 

MRS.    JUDSON. 

ALDERBROOK.     By  Fanny  Forrester.     2  vols.     Price  $1.75. 
THE    KATHAYAN   SLAVE,   AND    OTHER    PAPERS.      1   vol. 

Price  63  cents. 
MY  TWO  SISTERS:  A  Sketch  from  Memory.    Price  50  cents 

POETRY. 

LEIGH  HUNT'S  POEMS.    Blue  and  gold.    2  vols.    $1.50. 
GERALD    MASSEY'S    POETICAL    WORKS.      Blue    and  gold. 

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W.  M.  THACKERAY.    Baliads.    1  vol.    16mo.    75  cents. 
CHARLES  MACKAY'S  POEMS.     1vol.     Cloth.    Price  $1.00. 
HENRY  ALFORD'S  POEMS.    Just  out.    Price  $1.25. 
RICHARD    MONCKTON    MILNES.    Poems  of   Many   Years. 

Boards.     Price  75  cents. 
GEORGE  H.  BOKER.     Plays  and  Poems.    2  vols.  Price  $2.00. 
CHARLES  SPRAGUE.    Poetical  and  Prose  Writings.    With 

fine  Portrait.     Boards.    Price  75  cents. 
GERMAN  LYRICS.    Translated  by  Charles  T.  Brooks.    1  vol. 

16mo.     Cloth.     Price  $1.00. 
MATTHEW  ARNOLD'S  POEMS.    Price  75  cents. 
W.  EDMONSTOUNE  AYTOUN.    Bothwell.    Price  75  cents. 


BY   TICKNOR    AND    FIELDS.  9 


THOMAS  W.  PARSONS.    Poems.     Price  $1.00. 

JOHN  G.    SAXE.     Poems.      With   Portrait.     Boards,  63   cents. 
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HENRY  T.  TUCKERMAN.    Poems.     Cloth.     Price  75  cents. 

BOWRING'S  MATINS  AND  VESPERS.    Price  50  cents. 

YRIARTE'S  FABLES.    Translated  by  G.  H.  Devereux.     Price 
63  cents. 

MEMORY    AND    HOPE.     A    Book    of    Poems,  referring  to 
Childhood.     Cloth.     Price  $2.00. 

THALATTA:  A  Book  for  the  Sea-Side.     1vol.    16mo.    Cloth. 

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PHCEBE  CAF.Y.    Poems  and  Parodies.     75  cents. 
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PAUL  H.  HAYNE.     Poems.     1  vol.     16mo.     63  cents. 
PERCIVAL'S  POEMS.     Blue  and  Gold.     (In  Press.) 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

G.  H.  LEWES.      The  Life  and  Works  of  Goethe.     2  vols. 

16mo.     $2.50. 

OAKFIELD.     A  Novel.     By  Lieut.  Arnold.     Price  $1.00. 

ESSAYS    ON    THE    FORMATION    OF   OPINIONS    AND    THE 

PURSUIT  OF  TRUTH.     1  vol.     16mo.     Price  $1.00. 

WALDEN:  or,  Life  in  the  Woods.     By  Henry  D.  Thoreac. 
1  vol.     16ino.     Price  $1.00. 

LIGHT    ON    THE    DARK    RIVER  :     or,    Memoirs    of    Mrs. 
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WASHINGTON   ALLSTON.      Monaldi,  a  Tale.     1  vol.      16mo. 
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PROFESSOR  E.  T.  CHANXING.    Lectures  on  Oratory  anl 
Rhetoric.     Price  75  cents. 

JOHN'  C.  FREMONT.    Life,  Explorations,  &c.    With  Illustra- 
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SEED-GRAIN  FOR  THOUGHT  AND  DISCUSSION.     Compiled 

by  Mrs.  A.  C.  Lowell.    2  vols.    $1.75. 
A   PHYSICIAN'S    VACATION.      By    Dr.    Walter   Ciianninc 

Price  $1.50. 
MRS.  HORACE  MANN.    A  Physiological  Cookery  Book.  63c 


10  A    LIST    OF    BOOKS    PUBLISHED. 


ROBERTSON'S  SERMONS.    2  vols.  12mo.     $2.00. 
SCHOOL  DAYS  AT  RUGBY.     By  An  Old  Boy.     1  vol.     16m* 
Price  $1.00. 

WILLIAM  MOUNTFORD.    Thorpe:    A  Quiet  English  Town, 

and  Human  Life  therein.     16rno.    Price  $1.00. 

NOTES  FROM  LIFE.  By  Heney  Taylor,  author  of  '  Philip 
Van  Artevelde.'     1  vol.     16mo.     Cloth.    Price  63  cents. 

REJECTED  ADDRESSES.  By  Horacb  and  James  Smith. 
Boards,  Price  60  cents.     Cloth,  63  cents. 

WARRENIANA.  A  Companion  to  the  '  Rejected  Addresses.'  Price 
63  cents. 

WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH'S    BIOGRAPHY.    2  vols.    $2.50. 

ART  OF  PROLONGING  LIFE.  By  Hufeland.  Edited  by 
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JOSEPH  T.  BUCKINGHAM'S  PERSONAL  MEMOIRS  AND 
RECOLLECTIONS  OF  EDITORIAL  LIFE.  With  Portrait. 
2  vols.     16mo.     Price  $1.50. 

VILL AGE  LIFE  IN  EGYPT.  By  the  Author  of  '  Purple  Tints  of 
Paris.'     2  vols.     16mo.     Price  $1.25. 

DR.  JOHN  C.  WARREN.  The  Preservation  of  Health,  &c. 
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PRIOR'S  LIFE  OF  EDMUND  BURKE.    2  vols.    $2.00. 

NATURE  IN  DISEASE.  By  Dr.  Jacob  Bigelow.  1  vol.  16mo. 
Price  $1.25. 

WENSLEY:  A  Story  without  a  Moral.    Price  75  cents. 

GOLDSMITH.  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield.  Illustrated  Edition. 
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P ALISSY  THE  POTTER.  By  the  Author  of  '  How  to  make  Home 
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BY    TICKNOR    AND    FIELDS.  11 

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HORACE  MANN.    Thoughts  for  a  Young  Man.    25  cents. 

F.  W.  P.  GREENWOOD.    Sermons  of  Consolation.     $1.00. 

THE  BOSTON  BOOK.    Price  $1.25. 

ANGEL-VOICES.    Price  38  cents. 

SIR  ROGER  DE  CO VERLEY.    From  the  '  Spectator.'    75  cents. 

S.  T.  WALLIS.     Spain,  her  Institutions,  Politics,  and  Pub- 
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LABOR  AND  LOVE  :    A  Tale  of  English  Life.     50  cents. 

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THE  SOLITARY  OF  JUAN  FERNANDEZ.     By  the  Author  of 
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RUTH.    A  New  Novel  by  the  Author  of 'Mary  Barton.'    Cheap 
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do.  DIARY  OF  AN  ENNUYEE.   1  vol.    75  cents. 

do.  LOVES  OF  THE  POETS.     1  vol.     75  cents. 

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